


The Power of Two

by picascribit



Series: The False Wand AU [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death, Dumbledore's Army, Final Battle, Gen, Ghosts, Identity Issues, Magic-Draining, No Twincest, Non-Canonical Character Death, Polyjuice Potion, Post - Order of the Phoenix, Room of Requirement, Second War with Voldemort, Sharing a Body, Time Travel, Time Turner, Twins, Unbreakable Vow, Wands, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-28
Updated: 2007-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picascribit/pseuds/picascribit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1997-1998: Could a clever joke shop invention be the key to defeating the most powerful Dark wizard in over a century? The proprietors of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes mean to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Knockturn Alley Incident

**Author's Note:**

> AU diverging from canon after the end of _Order of the Phoenix_. Planned and partially written before the release of HBP and DH.
> 
> Warning: This story has not been edited yet, and may contain unintended problematic elements and tropes.

It was not a wise idea to venture into Knockturn Alley -- not with the war on -- not with their flaming red hair advertising their loyalties as blatantly as a "Dumbledore's Army" tee-shirt would have done -- but Fred and George Weasley were nature's risk-takers, and they wanted to test their new Invisibility Draught. If it worked, it would mean a major breakthrough for the Order. Invisibility cloaks were rare and costly, and without access to them, spies risked life and limb in the field every day. 

The potion seemed to be working, so far. They had encountered no fewer than five witches and wizards who knew them by sight, and each pair of eyes had simply slid over the two young men, visible only to each other. 

"This is great!" whispered Fred, dodging out of the path of a tall and sinister-looking witch. 

"It's brilliant," agreed George. "But we should get out of here now. We can't be sure how long this dosage will last." He had always been the more cautious of the two. 

"I know," said Fred. "But this is just too much fun! Hey, look!" He pointed toward a shop doorway some distance down the alley. "It's Malfoy's mum and that horrible Lestrange woman." 

"How can she be out in the open like that, when the whole Ministry is after her?" wondered George, disgusted. 

"I dunno," whispered Fred. "Let's go see what they're talking about." 

George reluctantly followed his brother, careful not to come into contact with any of the witches and wizards thronging the narrow street. It had been almost a year since the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, and his inclination was to stay as far away from Bellatrix Lestrange as possible, but he was not about to leave without his twin. 

As they drew nearer, the two witches' conversation became audible. 

"-- must be so proud of Draco," Bellatrix was saying. "Thank the Dark Lord that at least one of his generation recognises the sanctity of blood!" 

Fred smirked and rolled his eyes at his brother. 

Narcissa Malfoy shook her head sadly. "I am proud of him. Standing up to that Potter boy when everyone else fawns over him, and upholding pure-blood ideals when the old traditions seem to have fallen out of fashion. I don't know what I'd do without him since his father --" She broke off and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a square of pale green silk. It was common knowledge that her husband, Lucius Malfoy, had spent the past year in Azkaban prison for his role in the Department of Mysteries episode. 

Bellatrix looked sympathetic. "I never thought I would live to see the day when I would be ashamed of the name of Black. When I saw that blood-traitor cousin of ours in the Ministry fiasco last year, let me tell you, Cissy, I was only too glad to take the opportunity to clear our family's good name." 

Fred growled softly at this smearing of Sirius Black's heroic death, and George elbowed him sharply in the ribs. 

"You did the right thing, Bella," Narcissa replied, patting her arm. "I understand the Dark Lord was very impressed by how you dealt with him. He was very popular with Dumbledore's lot, you know. The rest of them are bound to try and avenge him, sooner or later. It will be easy to pick them off, one by one." 

Bellatrix's smile marred her otherwise attractive face. "I'll just bet the Potter boy and that nancy werewolf will be the first to give it a go. It will be my pleasure to deal with them. I had an idea that we might --" 

Fred and George leaned in closer simultaneously to listen, and their heads came together with a resounding _clunk_. 

" _What was that?!_ " screeched Narcissa Malfoy, flailing at the air as if it were attacking her. 

With a quickness that seemed inhuman, Bellatrix's white arm flashed out, and one twin watched in horror as her long fingers closed around his brother's wrist. 

"A spy!" she shrieked. "I've got him!" 

Her wand was in her other hand. Everything seemed to move in slow motion before his eyes. Why had they not thought to keep their wands at the ready? _So stupid!_ Two pairs of wide, matching brown eyes met. 

His brother's mouth formed the word _run_ , just as the terrible cry of " _Crucio!_ " passed the perfect, red lips of Bellatrix Lestrange. 

A sound like an animal in pain tore from his own throat as he watched his brother go down. Everyone not transfixed by the scene unfolding before them looked around for the source of the cry. 

_Have to run. Have to hide. No. Can't go. Can't leave without him --_

Apparently the curse had forced the effects of the Invisibility potion to wear off, for Bellatrix crowed, "I've got a _Weasley_!" 

"It's one of those twins," Narcissa said disdainfully. "From Weasleys' Witchy Widgets or whatever it's called. The other one won't be too far away." 

"Where's your brother, little red weasel?" Bellatrix hissed. 

Face pale but resolute, the young man on the ground gasped, "I'll die before I tell you!" 

"You'll die anyway," she said, then faced the gathering crowd. "Find him! He's here somewhere! He's invisible." 

He tried to run -- tried to avoid the blindly-flailing arms all around him, but it was no use. Within seconds, half a dozen grasping hands had come down on his arms and shoulders, and he could not fight his way free. 

"We've got him!" called one of his captors. 

Bellatrix pointed her wand at him. " _Reveal!_ " she cried. Then that horrible smile returned as she retrained her wand on his fallen brother. "So. The infamous, inseparable Weasley twins. Fighting the good fight, are we, boys?" 

"Always!" panted his brother, still on the ground. 

"Shut up, you!" she spat, kicking him. "Now. How to deal with our young spies?" 

"Kill them," suggested a voice from the crowd. "They're too young to know anything useful. Send their bodies back to Dumbledore. Remind him and his precious Order what happens to blood-traitors." 

"Now, now," said Bellatrix silkily. "Where would be the fun in that? No," she continued. "There's no need to expend that much power. I say we _separate_ them. After all, what good is one twin without the other?" 

She looked directly into his eyes as she said this, wand still pointed at his brother's chest. 

"What are you going to do with us?" he asked, trying to sound as brave as he could. 

"You?" she said scornfully. "I'm not going to do anything with _you_. I'm going to let you run home to your blood-traitor mummy and daddy." 

"What?" Now he was confused. 

"Yes. Run along home, little weasel. Unless you want to die too?" And without taking her eyes from his, in the coldest voice imaginable, she spoke the words " _Avada Kedavra!_ " And then she laughed. 

There was a flash of green light, and his twin lay, pale and still at her feet. His brain was screaming at him, though his mouth was clamped tight shut, and he would have flown at her, if not for all the hands restraining him. And then he was being pushed away by the crowd. They were all sneering and laughing and forcing him back, out of Knockturn Alley. 

He could not see his brother's body anymore beyond the crush of people. At last, he broke and ran. No one gave chase. He had to put as much distance between himself and what had just happened as he could. He stumbled and fell and got up and kept running. He only knew that he had to get back to Grimmauld Place. 

He could not think -- could not remember. His wand lay forgotten in his pocket. Magic was a word he knew without comprehending. In his right mind, he could have Apparated back to the Order's headquarters in seconds, but as he was -- crazed with horror and denial -- it took him the better part of a day to make his way to the house on foot. 

It was nearly dark by the time he reached its forbidding façade. Stumbling up to the door, he beat and scratched at it until it opened. He staggered inside, not even looking to see who had let him in, covering his ears to block out the screeching of the painting in the hallway, whose twisted mouth reminded him too much of the last face he could remember seeing. 

He half-fell into the sitting room, crawled on hands and knees to the space between the sofa and the wall, squeezed himself into it, and huddled there, shivering. 

There were voices. People were gathering in the room, peering at him, speaking to him. He looked up at them with the eyes of a wounded and terrified animal. They quickly saw that they would get no response from him, and began talking amongst themselves. 

"-- contact Molly and Arthur?" 

"-- never seen him look like that." 

"Where's --?" 

"-- never seen one without --" 

"What's happened?" 

Then there was a scarred and belligerent face very close to his, a hand on his shoulder, shaking him, one black eye and one milky blue eye searching his face, and a harsh voice saying, "Weasley? Weasley, pull yourself together. You must tell us what's happened. Where is your brother?" 

"We've got four," he mumbled. 

"Weasley, your parents have been summoned. If something's happened to your brother, we must know. Where is he? Has he fallen into enemy hands?" 

He was vaguely aware that a few members of the Order were pulling on cloaks and checking for their wands. They were standing near the door, a rescue mission waiting for a word from him -- waiting for him to tell them where to go. 

"Knock -- Knockturn Alley," he managed at last. 

"You heard him, lads," Mad-Eye Moody said grimly. 

As they turned toward the door, he put out a hand. "No, wait! No, it's too late -- too late!" His voice sounded unnaturally high. "He -- he's _dead_!" 

A heavy silence descended upon the room, and all he could hear was the gasping sound of his own breathing. Everyone was staring at him, transfixed. 

Then, with a soft popping sound, there arrived in the room something he could focus on at last. 

"Mum?" he whispered. "Dad?" 

* * *

Alastor Moody rose to his feet, feeling as grim as the tidings he knew it would be his duty to bear to Molly and Arthur Weasley. The couple were standing in the middle of the room staring at their son, crouched and cowering behind the sofa. 

"Where's --?" Molly began with a slight frown. 

And then she met Alastor's eyes, and a mother's intuition took over. He would not have to tell her, after all. With a heartcry, Molly Weasley clutched at her husband's arm and fell to her knees. 

" _Nononononono --_ " she moaned. 

Arthur Weasley went dead white. His eyes slowly turned from his son to his wife, kneeling on the floor. Numbly, he crouched beside her, trying to take her into his arms, but she kept batting his hands away. At last, she went down on hands and knees, and crawled to her son's hiding place. 

"Baby?" she sobbed. "Baby, Mummy's here." 

Her son reached out to her, and disregarding the fact that he was no longer six years old, she pulled him into her arms. 

Alastor was ushering the rest of the stunned Order members from the room. At last, it was just himself and the Weasleys. Arthur still knelt in the centre of the room, staring at his wife and son. Alastor rested a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up. 

"Is it --" He cleared his throat. "Is it true? Is my son --?" 

"Afraid so, Arthur." He sighed. "The boy says his brother is dead. It must be so. He would never have come back alone, elsewise." 

Arthur nodded, eyes turning miserably back to his family. 

"I know this is difficult," Alastor went on, "but we must send word to Dumbledore. Can you tell me which of your sons it is that's come back, and which it is that's gone?" 

Arthur's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, and Molly, with a despairing cry, held the boy away from her at arms length. She searched his blank face for a moment with swollen, red eyes. 

At last she said in a trembling voice, "I don't know. And I don't think he knows, either!"


	2. Half Dead

They had wanted to take him home to the Burrow to be with his family, but Remus Lupin had gently suggested that perhaps it would not be such a good idea to make him sleep alone in the room he had shared with his brother all his life, and his parents had seen the wisdom in that. Instead, he had been given Sirius's old room at Grimmauld Place. 

He lay in darkness for three days, staring at the wall, not really sleeping, but rarely fully conscious either. His mother sat with him for several hours each day, holding his unresponsive hand. She tried to get him to eat something, talking about anything and everything to stave off the silence, and she frequently pleaded with him to remember his own name, for her sake. 

The rest of his family visited, as well. His father rarely said much, but came every day to sit with him for a while. Bill and Charlie were there -- Charlie had come home from Romania as soon as he had heard -- and they sat with him, trying to make jokes, to get him to talk or laugh, unsure what else to do. Ron and Ginny came down from Hogwarts the day after. Ron babbled and looked troubled, and Ginny curled up next to him on the bed and sobbed as if her heart were broken. Percy, of course, did not come. 

On the third morning, no one in his family came to see him. He spent the day watching the spring sunlight filter through the dark, heavy curtains, the only indication of the slight difference between day and night in the room, not caring about anything. At last, around evening, someone came. 

Remus Lupin tentatively opened the door and came hesitantly into the room he had not dared to enter in almost a year. He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and did not speak for some minutes. 

At last, he said, "Dumbledore received your brother's body today. Your family are with him now." He looked down at the blank-eyed young man lying in the bed he had once shared with his dead lover. "Do you understand what I am saying to you?" 

After a moment, he nodded slowly. 

"I thought --" Remus began. "I thought that, maybe -- maybe you'd like to talk to someone. I -- I know it's hard, but maybe if it were someone who had lost someone as well --?" 

The boy in the bed rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "I don't know," he whispered. "I feel like -- like half my soul's been ripped away. And I don't even know which half. How can anyone feel like this and go on living?" It was the most he had spoken since his return to Grimmauld Place. 

"I know," Remus said softly. "It's a terrible, lonely, empty feeling. I promise you, it does get better. It will never go away entirely, though." 

He nodded again, but said nothing. 

"It won't start to get better, though, until you get out of this bed and begin living again," Remus admonished gently. "Would he have wanted you to waste away like this? To stop living just because he did?" 

"No," he whispered. 

"I thought -- maybe --" Remus began tentatively, then plunged in. "I thought maybe if you went and saw the -- the body, it might help?" 

The boy shook his head. "No. I already saw it -- him." 

"Oh." Remus was silent. "I just thought -- because that was one of the hardest things for me -- there not being a body. It made it seem less -- real." 

"Take my word for it; it doesn't seem real, anyway." At last, he turned his eyes to the gray man sitting on the edge of the bed. "We -- _I_ haven't heard you mention Sirius since --" 

"I know." Remus lowered his eyes. "It's not been easy. But there's some comfort in knowing that he -- died -- fighting the good fight." 

"That's what she said. That woman. Bellatrix." 

Remus's shoulders tensed. "It was her then, was it?" 

"Seems like it always is, doesn't it?" His eyes were back on the ceiling, fixed, as if seeing something else. "She asked us if we were fighting the good fight. We -- I -- he told her we were. But we weren't. Not really. We were just arsing around. Stupid, really. Were we always so stupid?" 

Remus smiled a little sadly. "I don't think there's any such thing as a stupid Weasley. Maybe a bit rash or stubborn now and then, but never stupid." He patted the boy's knee. "Don't blame yourself, lad. It was an accident. Bad luck. These things happen." 

"Thank you, Sir," he said, but his mind was already elsewhere, and Remus could see it. 

"Well, just think on what I said, lad. It would do your mother good to see you up and about." 

The boy in the bed spoke no more, and after a moment, Remus left, closing the door silently behind him. 

* * *

He was alone again. That was the worst thing; the silence. There had always been someone else there, always. Someone breathing, moving, talking, laughing. But now there was nothing. He was alone. He had never even known what that meant, before. 

If it was silent in the room, it was noisy inside his head. He relived, again and again, the scene in the alley. Sometimes he saved his brother, sometimes not. Sometimes they both died, and sometimes it was only himself. 

And always in the back of his mind was the question of identity. The two of them had been so much like one soul in two bodies that it had not mattered much which was Fred and which was George. Now that it did matter, the truth seemed slippery. He could remember hearing the words, "I'm Fred, and this is George," but he could not recall if it was he or his brother who had spoken them. 

_Maybe both of us need to be alive for Fred and George to exist,_ he thought, late one night. _Maybe on my own, I'm no one._

It was an unsettling thought. Would he have to come up with a new identity? A new name? Just getting out of bed seemed daunting enough at the moment. 

_I wonder what name they will carve on his stone? Might as well put both of us on there._

He closed his eyes. As he drifted into a fitful doze, his last thought was, _Come back to me, Brother. I'm no good at this on my own._

* * *

It was still pitch black in the room when his eyes opened. Something had awakened him. Was it a dream? He could not recall having dreamt anything. A noise in the house? He listened, but the only sound was the wind whistling through the cracks and gaps in the old shutters. 

Something felt different. That was it. Something in the room? No. Something was different inside him. He lay on his back, squinting in concentration at the ceiling, lost in the gloom high above him. In a moment, it would come to him. In a moment, he would know. 

_Ah, that's it._ A slow smile spread across his face. _I'm not alone anymore._

He turned over, still smiling, and went back to sleep.


	3. Two of Us

Molly Weasley put her hand on the doorknob and balanced the breakfast tray against her hip. She took a deep, cleansing breath, steeling herself once more for the ordeal of facing her unresponsive son -- of trying to coax a little food into him, and perhaps a little life as well. In the stillness between drawing breath and letting it go, she realised that she could hear _talking_ coming from beyond the door. Her son's voice. 

She let her breath out noisily through her mouth in surprise. She had not heard him speak more than a few syllables in the past week, and those barely above a whisper. She also had not expected him to have any visitors this early in the morning. But what she heard through the door sounded suspiciously like animated conversation. Overcome by curiosity, she pushed the door open. 

"Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt. Just bringing up breakfast --" She stopped. 

Her son was standing in the middle of the room in his pyjamas, looking at her. He was alone. 

"Baby, were you -- talking to someone just now?" she asked cautiously. 

He rushed to her with a grin, and took the tray out of her hands, setting it on the nightstand. Then he turned back to her, lifted her in his arms, and spun her around giddily. 

"Mum!" he cried. "Mum, it's _wonderful_! He's come back! I'm not alone any more!" 

Molly stared around the room, stunned. No, it was definitely just the two of them. 

"Were you -- talking to yourself, Sweetheart?" 

He laughed, a sound of pure joy. "Mum, I've _always_ talked to myself. It's just that the other me was here to listen and talk back, so it didn't look -- I don't know -- _mad_ , or anything." He shook his head and put his hands to his temples. "But now, he's in here -- we're both in here." He took his mother's hands in his own, looking pleadingly into her eyes. "Be glad, Mum. He's come back." 

Molly opened her mouth, unsure what to say. She knew she should try to calm him -- rationalise him out of his delusion -- but she was loathe to say anything that might plunge him back into his former apathetic state. 

"Sweetheart, why don't you -- er -- sit down? I mean, it's nice to see you up and about, but you'll overexert --" 

"Breakfast!" he interrupted, and immediately sat down on the bed and began stuffing his mouth with crumpets, eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and washing it down with tea. 

_At least he's eating,_ his mother thought despairingly. 

"This is delicious!" he declared. "Do you want some, Mum?" 

"No, no thank you, Sweetie; I'm not hungry." She smiled at him tentatively. "It does a mother good to see her son eating. Fred --" 

"Yeah?" He looked up, mouth full. 

A smile of relief blossomed on her face like sunrise. "Oh, you've remembered! You're Fred!" 

"Of course I am, Mum!" He gave her a one-armed hug and kissed her on the cheek with buttery lips. "I'm both of us!" 

* * *

They took him to St Mungo's the next day. His parents sat nervously in the waiting room, holding hands, as the Healer examined him. At last, they were called in. 

"This is a baffling case," admitted the witch in long, lime green robes. "The problem is not of a magical nature, so there's very little we can do here. I think there's very little _anyone_ could do." 

"The shock of losing his brother --" Arthur began. "It's obviously unhinged his mind. Is there any chance this -- fantasy -- is only temporary? A way of coping with the loss?" 

"It's difficult to say, at this point," the Healer said ruefully. "He may snap out of the delusion in time. Or he may not. He does, however, seem to be in good physical health, and for the moment, he seems happy as well." 

She offered the Weasleys a reassuring smile. Molly and Arthur continued to look worried, but their son beamed back at her, and winked. 

"My advice is just to keep an eye on him. Keep him talking and doing the things he likes to do. Make sure he's eating right, and getting plenty of sleep. Other than that, I don't know what to tell you." 

"Is there --" Molly bit her lip and began again. "Is there any chance that it's not just in his mind? I mean, could they really both be in there?" 

"Now, Molly --" Arthur admonished. 

The Healer pursed her lips. "It seems unlikely, but there is so much we don't know about the nature of the bond magical twins share. I must admit, I've never treated a case involving traumatic loss of a twin. I suppose it's possible. A sort of personal haunting, shall we say?" She turned her eyes to the younger Weasley again, who was giggling softly, as if at some private joke. "As long as he believes it, does it really make a difference whether it's true or not?" 

His stricken parents glanced at their son. 

"I suppose you're right," sighed Molly. "Thank you, Healer." 

They both shook hands with the witch, and then the three of them returned to the waiting room to Apparate home. 

* * *

The following weeks were difficult for the Weasleys. Bill went back to work at Gringotts, and Charlie returned to Romania. Ron and Ginny promised to come home as soon as exams were finished, and returned to Hogwarts. Percy never came home at all, though his mother wrote to him, explaining how things were. Life at the Burrow became quiet, and everything seemed to return almost to normal. 

Then one night in late May, Molly Weasley awakened to a _crash_ that shook the whole house. She was in her dressing gown and up the stairs in the blinking of an eye, pounding on the door to the twins' room. 

"Are you all right in there?" she cried. 

"Sorry, Mum!" a voice called. "Didn't mean to wake you!" 

When she opened the door, her son was standing in the middle of the room, a wand in each hand, tongue between his teeth in fierce concentration, and all the furniture in the room was hanging in the air above their heads. 

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?!" 

"Rearranging furniture," he replied, not taking his eyes off the heavy desk suspended over his head. 

"I can see that!" She shook her head in disbelief. "Is that your brother's wand?" 

"It's an old one, Mum. It was broken, so we fixed it. It's much handier for us to have two." 

"Sweetie --" She gently rested a hand on his shoulder. "Sweetie, put the furniture down." 

He sighed and ushered the furnishings back to the floor, where they arranged themselves as best it could. Wearily, he sat down on one of the beds. 

"Can't you sleep, Baby?" his mother asked, sitting down beside him and rubbing his back. 

"Fred was about to go to sleep," he yawned. "But I wanted to finish this first. Would it be all right if we transfigured one of the beds into a counter or desk or something?" 

"What?" 

"Well, me and George were thinking -- we don't really need both of them anymore, but what we _do_ need is a lab." 

Molly looked blank. "A lab?" 

"Yeah. We were thinking of going back to work on Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes." 

"Well, if it makes you happy, then I suppose --" Molly pursed her lips. She had never completely approved of her enterprising young sons' business. 

"No, Mum, don't you see?" He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes will just be a cover. Fred and I are the best inventors the Order's got, and I just know that if we put our heads together -- er, so to speak -- we can come up with something that will win this thing for us, once and for all!" 

"Now, Fred -- er, George -- er, Son, do you really think that's such a good idea? It could be dangerous --" 

"We'll be careful, Mum," he promised. "We should have been more careful before. He -- I -- one of us said so in Knockturn Alley, and he was right. That was a bloody stupid thing to do. But we really believe we can do this. We can make a difference. Please let us try, Mum?" 

Molly sighed, looking into her son's pleading brown eyes. "Yes, all right. If you promise to be careful. But could you do your father and me the courtesy of waiting to rearrange furniture until a more sociable hour?" 

"Sure thing, Mum!" He hugged her. "This is going to be great! We'll make the Order proud. And you and Dad, too. Just you wait and see." 

* * *

By the end of the next day, the room was done up like a proper laboratory. Molly put her head in from time to time, but the red head bent over the desk never looked up from making notes and mumbling to itself. By the end of the week, the second bed had been converted into more counter space. 

"We're sleeping in shifts," he explained. "That way, we don't need the bed at all, and it'll be less confusing for you and Dad. You'll only be dealing with one of us at a time, and at night, when we're both awake, we'll be at work in here. 

Molly could not think what to do but nod and let him get on with it. Even after three days of "sleeping in shifts", he did not seem tired, so perhaps there was something to it, after all. 

The room quickly filled up with diagrams pinned to the walls, wads of parchment balled up underfoot, and working models that -- it turned out -- didn't. They arranged their schedules so that they were "both" awake at night when their parents were sleeping, the downside of which was that the dark hours were the noisiest, between the bangs, crashes, small explosions, and shouted arguments about what had gone wrong. 

The laboratory also churned out practical joke items, and Lee Jordan began dropping by on a weekly basis to take them to Diagon Alley for testing, production, and sale. But Molly could tell that most of the diagrams on the walls of her sons' laboratory would not produce humorous results. 

Ron and Ginny returned home from Hogwarts for the summer holidays, as promised, but complained bitterly that they could not sleep in the noisy house. The war continued, the twins kept working, and life at the Burrow settled into something resembling a routine.


	4. In Which a Plan is Hatched

The frenetic activity in the laboratory continued for months. Molly Weasley learned that when the door was closed, her son was busy and not in the mood for company. Even so, she would often stand outside the closed door and listen. From the sounds within -- conversation, crashes, and muffled explosions -- she could almost believe there really were two of them in there. He talked to himself almost constantly, and Molly was beginning to half-believe that perhaps her son was not mad, after all. 

Even when he did allow her into the laboratory, she could not make head nor tail of what he was accomplishing. Scraps and wads of parchment piled up, scribbled with notes -- notes across notes, notes over notes -- but all the actual objects being produced were simple, clever joke shop items that seemed to serve no greater purpose than to amuse or annoy. 

People came to visit him sometimes. Members of the Order dropped by to say "hello", and to see how he and his family were getting on. The casualties of the war had so far been mercifully light -- at least when compared with the last one -- few enough that the Order were able to take care of their own, and see to their needs individually. 

Remus Lupin was a frequent visitor, though many times when he came by the door to the laboratory was closed, and instead he would take a cup of tea with Molly, commenting in his dry, witty fashion on the continuous stream of odd noises and shouts that drifted down the stairs, and then going on his way. 

Then one night in late October, Molly awoke suddenly in the darkened house. She lay in her bed, wondering what had awakened her. She could not hear anything. That was it. The house had barely experienced a moment's silence since the twins had begun their work, but now the stillness of the night had settled over it. 

Quietly, so as not to disturb Arthur -- who could sleep through anything, even, apparently, silence -- she got up and put on her dressing gown and slippers. She tiptoed up the stairs to the landing where the twins' room was, and put her ear to the door. Nothing. She knocked tentatively. If he was actually sleeping for once, she did not want to wake him. 

"Come in," said a distracted-sounding voice. 

Cautiously, she pushed the door open. Her son lay on the floor, fingers laced together behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. Piled around him were the usual discarded wads of torn parchment, and every square inch of the walls and ceiling -- even those bits not covered by a legitimate writing surface -- bore scribbles and diagrams and notes. 

"Are you all right, Sweetheart?" she asked. 

"We've sent an owl to Dumbledore," he replied calmly. "And one to Lupin." 

"Ah," she said. "Good?" 

"We think so." He sounded thoughtful and distracted. "I thought of it, and George agreed. We both think it's a good idea, but we still need to work out the details. And we'll need help," he pointed out. It did not sound as though he was talking to her any longer -- as if he had forgotten she was there already. "We'll need the cooperation of the Order, Fred. We can't go forward without Dumbledore's say-so. And I think we should give him the formula for the Invisibility potion. We were stupid and reckless with it. I know you said we should be careful, and I was an idiot. Dumbledore will know how to put it to good use. And once he sees what we can do --" 

Molly quietly closed the door behind her, leaving the twins to their discussion. 

* * *

_It will work. It's a good plan,_ thought Fred. 

_But,_ George reminded him, _we'll have to be careful. If it goes wrong, it won't just be our necks on the line; we'll be putting the whole Order at risk._

_I know. And you're right. You've always been more careful than me. If I'd only listened to you that day --_

_No point in going over that again,_ George told him. _"If only" doesn't change anything. Besides, he added, this isn't so bad. No one can separate us now, and with our combined power --_

_So which one of us is going to explain about the money?_ interrupted Fred. 

_You do it,_ George decided. _You always had a better head for Arithmancy and business. And by the time we talk to Dumbledore, hopefully we'll have Lupin on our side as well, and he can help us convince him._

They had been awake and talking all night, sometimes out loud, sometimes only in their head. It did not seem to matter which anymore. The longer they were together like this, the more the lines between them blurred, and few besides themselves had ever noticed those lines at all, so subtle and nuanced were the differences in their personalities. They blended and merged, and sometimes even they did not know which thoughts and words belonged to whom. 

Daybreak had brought an owl tapping at the laboratory window. She carried a reply from Remus, saying he found himself unexpectedly free today, and agreed to meet them at the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. 

The twins suspected that the mysterious and suggestive nature of their message had intrigued him enough that he had made some room in his usually-busy schedule for them. The werewolf had thrown himself into the Order after Sirius's death, and had worked tirelessly as its chief intelligence officer. He did more than his share, and the twins hated to distract him from his duties, but getting him on their side was vital to the success of their plan. 

They had outlined their idea in as much detail as they could between the two of them that morning, so that they would be as confident and convincing as possible, but no matter how much ingenuity they possessed, putting their heads together would get them only so far. The time had come to seek outside help and ideas. 

"We're going out, Mum!" they called as they pulled on their robes and shoved a wand in each pocket. 

"The Leaky Cauldron," they told the green flames in the hearth, and carefully tucked in their elbows. 

* * *

They stumbled onto soot-streaked brick, into the dim and comforting interior of London's most famous Wizarding pub, breathing in the heady scents of beer, stew, and magic. Peering around the taproom, they searched for Remus, but as the leading operative of the Order's spies, he could not, of course, appear in public as himself, especially when meeting for mysterious reasons with other members of the Order. Instead, the twins looked for Someone Inconspicuous displaying the Order's signal: right hand resting on left knee, wand in left hand. 

The twins blinked in surprise when they saw her -- a mousy-haired witch, sitting alone in a corner. She rose when they approached, holding out her arms, and speaking in Remus's clipped accent, just loud enough for the people at the tables nearest them to hear. 

"Darling! I'm so glad you're feeling better!" 

The twins were slightly stunned when the witch embraced them, kissing them affectionately on the cheek. 

"Interesting disguise," Fred said under his breath as they sat down. 

"Polyjuice," muttered Remus, making a face. "It's foul stuff, and I have to be careful about when I take it, but apparently werewolf metabolism makes it last longer, so it's invaluable to my -- studies. God, what I wouldn't give sometimes to be a Metamorphmagus! I've been looking for something more bearable, but --" 

"We may be able to help you with that," whispered George, then raised his voice slightly to say, "You look positively ravishing this afternoon, Pet." He raised an eyebrow. 

"Yes, well, I just thought it would look less odd for you to be making a rare public appearance if you had a -- a date." A faint blush stained the witch's cheeks. 

Fred and George grinned gleefully. "Oh, so it's like that, is it?" They took one of the witch's slender hands in theirs. "Fancy a threesome, do you, Pet?" 

"Stop that!" hissed Remus, blushing less faintly and trying to pull his hand away. "I'm almost old enough to be your father! Er -- mother." 

The twins let go and sat back with a sigh. "He's toying with our affections, Fred. Coming in here with a body like that, offering us the first date we've had in a good long while --" 

"Did you have something you wanted to discuss, or did you leave your house for the first time in months merely to make my life difficult?" asked Remus pointedly. 

"Oh, we've much to tell." Fred smiled mysteriously and raised an eyebrow. "We were just so distracted by your beauty that we forgot ourselves for a moment." 

"See," said George quickly when Remus scowled, "we think we've got an idea that will -- fix things. For everyone." 

"Do you?" Remus leaned forward. "Then we'll need to talk more privately. Tom!" He raised his voice and waved for the publican's attention. "Mr Weasley and I will require a room. The Phoenix Suite, if it's available?" He quirked an elegantly plucked eyebrow. 

"That's right!" said Fred, putting an arm around the witch's waist. "We just can't keep our hands off one another. It's been too bloody long since either of us had a shag." 

As they followed Tom up the narrow wooden stairs, George asked under his breath, "Phoenix Suite?" 

"It's a little more private," Remus replied in a whisper. "Special wards to keep certain people from accidentally overhearing anything potentially -- embarrassing." 

"Great," Fred teased. "We'll be able to have really loud sex without bothering anyone." 

"Indeed," said Remus coldly. "And they won't hear me when I give you a richly deserved slap if you get fresh with me, young man." 

The Phoenix Suite, as it turned out, was a rather small room, and poorly lit, but clean. It had enough space for a small group of people -- perhaps four or so -- to sit in relative comfort. Remus and Tom locked the door of the room by inserting keys and turning the lock from both sides simultaneously. 

Before sitting down, Remus tapped every corner of the room, floor and ceiling, with his wand to strengthen the Silencing charm. He had to stand on his toes to get the corners around the ceiling, and hop a bit as well, which Fred and George found immensely funny, considering that Remus, when he was himself, was quite a tall man. At last, he sat down across the small table from the twins. 

"If you've quite finished having a laugh at my expense, would you care to tell me what this is all about?" He arched a brow inquiringly. 

"You tell him, Fred; it was your idea." 

"No, you. You can explain it better." 

"All right. We think we've come up with something that will bring down Voldemort once and for all." His eyes glinted with barely-suppressed excitement. 

Remus looked dubious. "I'm sure you boys are sincere, since I don't think you would have called me here for nothing. But your speciality, if I recall, is pranks and jokes. If Dumbledore, with all his power and wisdom, hasn't yet come up with anything big enough to bring down Voldemort, how can you possibly hope to?" 

"We don't need something big or powerful. He'd be expecting something like that. What we need is something small," Fred replied smugly. 

They reached into their pocket and took out a long, thin piece of wood, setting it on the table between them. 

"Whose wand is this? One of yours?" asked Remus, puzzled. 

"It's not a wand." George grinned. "It's just -- something small. And we can make it so you never have to use Polyjuice Potion again, if you'll hear us out." 

Remus frowned at the stick. The power coming from it _felt_ like a wand. 

"All right," he said. "I'm listening. What's your plan?"


	5. The Grand Scheme

Albus Dumbledore was a very busy man, moreso recently than ever. Not only was the Headmastership of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry a full-time job in itself, but there was a war raging outside the school's walls, and as the head of the Order of the Phoenix, he stood firmly on its front lines. That being the case, he had not yet had the opportunity to reply to the unexpected owl which had arrived from the Burrow in the early hours of that morning. 

He had not slept the previous night, and could not quite remember what it felt like to be well-rested. Sometimes he wished he could simply lay down the mantle of leadership and take a long and well-deserved rest. But he could not. The gift for true leadership is bestowed upon only a few, and he had a responsibility to see this through to its end. 

_God willing, it will be soon,_ he thought tiredly. _Or I may not live to see it._ He felt as if he had aged ten years in the last eighteen months. 

The knock on his office door startled him. He had not been expecting any visitors this evening, and he sincerely hoped that it was nothing urgent, requiring his immediate attention. He had been hoping for at least a few hours sleep, and soon. But very few people had the password that could bring them up the phoenix staircase, and none of them came to him without good reason. 

"Come in," he said with a sigh, resigning himself to wakefulness for at least a while longer. 

The door opened and an unfamiliar witch entered the office -- unfamiliar, at least, until she spoke in the clipped accent of his spymaster. 

"Good evening, Headmaster. We're sorry to intrude uninvited, but young Mr Weasley here has an idea that he thinks might be of interest to you." 

Remus was followed into the office by a scruffy-looking, redheaded young man who greeted Dumbledore with a merry salute and a cry of "Hail, our mighty General!" 

Dumbledore smiled, wearily returning the salute. At least their business did not appear to be some grim errand. 

"Have a seat, lads," he invited them. "It is good to see you up and about, dear boy. Now, what is on your minds?" 

"He --" began Remus, then quickly amended with a nod of acknowledgment, "-- they -- the twins, that is -- think they have an idea which could be instrumental in bringing about a swift conclusion to the war. And I must say, it seems to me to have some merit." 

"Remus, lad," admonished Dumbledore. "Always so stiff and formal. I am not some ogre who will bite your head off for not using five words where one will do. You have not been my student in almost twenty years; you must learn to treat me as a friend and an equal. Now. Which of you is going to tell me of this marvelous plan which will make all our lives better?" 

"Fred will tell you," said George. "But first, we have a gift for you -- for you and Remus, that is. You know; just a little something we brewed up to show we're here in good faith, and that we really can do what we say we can." 

From the pocket of their robes, they drew a tiny glass phial of amber liquid. 

"We made it toffee-flavoured for you, Sir," Fred informed the Headmaster. "But we're also working on developing a chocolate-flavoured version for those who prefer it." He gave Remus a wink. 

"It's an Invisibility potion," Remus uncharacteristically interrupted, excitement glowing from his earnest face. 

In spite of his current feminine disguise, Dumbledore was reminded of the boy he had once been -- not the reserved and studious prefect, Remus Lupin, but the one his friends had called "Moony" -- the one who had taken a secret joy in the pranks he swore he had tried to talk them out of -- the one who had bloomed and shone in the company of Sirius Black. The headmaster smiled a little sadly, turning the glass phial over and over in his hands. 

_This war has taken so much from all of us. How can we begin to reckon the cost?_

All he said, though, was, "This potion really works? If it does, and can be easily produced, it will give the Order a great advantage. And I know our former Professor here will be only too pleased to dispense with the use of Polyjuice Potion." 

"It works," Fred assured him sincerely as Remus made a face. "We need to run a few more tests to see how long different strengths will last, and whether the flavour affects the duration. It might be different for different people --" they nodded to Remus "-- or werewolves. We don't think there are any side-effects. But if you're hit with a spell, it seems to cancel out the potion." 

The boy suddenly looked troubled. 

"Ah," said the headmaster. "I see. So, you will not be wanting to test this potion yourselves, I think?" 

The twins shook their head somewhat reluctantly, and Remus looked slightly puzzled. 

"Well," said Dumbledore, pocketing the phial, "I shall see to it personally that a priority is made of testing this ingenious new formula. Is there an antidote, in case one needs to become visible again in a hurry? No? Well, no matter. I'm sure you clever boys will figure it out soon enough." 

The old wizard steepled his fingers and looked at them over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "So. For this potion alone, both myself and the Order will be very much in your debt. But you say this is a mere token to sweeten the cauldron? Believe me, boys, you have my full and undivided attention. What can I do for you?" 

The twins nervously licked their lips as they reached into their pocket and once again and drew out the "wand". They laid it gingerly before the headmaster. He examined it without touching it for long moments. 

"What is it?" he asked at last in a quiet voice. 

"It --" began Fred nervously. "It looks like a wand, and it feels like a wand, but it's not a wand." 

"What does it do?" asked Dumbledore. 

"Well, nothing yet. I mean, we haven't decided. George thinks it should do just that -- nothing -- but I want something with a little more -- er -- 'sparkle' to it." 

"Indeed," nodded the headmaster. "And what do you propose to do with this sparkly not-a-wand?" 

"See," began George eagerly, "this is just a prototype. This one didn't have to look like any wand in particular. That's going to be the hard part -- making one that looks and feels just like -- er -- _someone's_ wand. And then, of course, there's the problem of making the switch at the right moment." 

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "A bold and daring plan, boys. And one which, from the sound of it, still includes a great many 'ifs'. Do you believe that you can come up with a working scheme involving this little innovation of yours?" 

"We -- we think we can, Sir," said Fred nervously. "But we -- we'll need help from the Order. And money," he rushed on. "Sirius -- he left the Order some money, didn't he? And we think -- and Remus agrees -- that this is just the sort of thing he would want that money to be used for. You know; a grand prank that will bring down Voldemort and his Death Eaters once and for all." 

Dumbledore turned his blue gaze to Remus inquiringly. "They're right, Sir," the spymaster said. "If this could work, well, it's exactly the kind of legacy Sirius would have wanted. And I want for him to have it, if it's at all possible." 

Dumbledore sat back in his high-backed chair, took off his spectacles and rubbed his tired eyes. 

"Very well," he said. "You shall have whatever resources are at my disposal to formulate a working plan. It sounds as though there are still many details to work out before we can even think about moving forward with this. 

"First of all, you will need to make a convincing replica of a certain wand. I recommend that you go and see Isaac Ollivander about that. Incredible memory for his merchandise, that man. 

"Besides this, you still need to figure out what this marvelous object of yours will do. To that end, I give you free reign of the Hogwarts library, including the Restricted Section. But please, _be careful_. 

"And last, but certainly not least, I suspect we shall need to pinpoint the Death Eaters' base of operations. We've had no luck locating their headquarters thus far -- no doubt they can use the Fidelius Charm or one of its variants as effectively as we can -- but perhaps we can employ your innovative new potion to that end." 

He fixed the twins with a hard look. "You _will not_ set anything in motion without coming to me first," he told them firmly. "This is a very dangerous and delicate scheme you propose, and a rash move on your part might put us all in danger. Am I understood?" 

The twins nodded their head dumbly, awed that the most powerful wizard in over a century had such faith in their abilities. 

"I'll help them," Remus interjected. "When I can find the time, that is. Sirius's legacy, well, it means a lot to me." 

"I am aware of that, Remus," Dumbledore replied, his expression softening. "And of course I am relieved to know that you will be there to guide our young inventors, since I myself am far too busy. I seem to recall it was often your prudence and caution that kept certain other young pranksters from getting in too far over their heads." There was a twinkle in his tired eyes. 

"And now, boys, you have given me much to think about when I really ought to be sleeping, so forgive me if I must beg to take my leave of you." 

"We'll see ourselves out, Headmaster," Remus assured him, rising. "Good night, Sir."


	6. The Restricted Section

They knew that the responsible thing to do was to go home and get to work on the antidote for the Invisibility potion as they had promised, to thank Dumbledore for his help -- knew that it would be easy and they could probably work it out in a day or so -- but the siren song of free access to the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library was too much for them to resist. They bade farewell to Remus in the second floor corridor -- he was anxious to get back to Grimmauld Place before the Polyjuice wore off and his clothes did not fit any longer -- and ducked behind a tapestry, taking a well-remembered shortcut to the library. 

It was after hours, and the cavernous room was as dark and dusty as ever. But they had spent more time hiding from Filch in the library by night and researching new inventions by day than they ever had in studying, so the musty, papery darkness held a high degree of familiarity for them. The dim moonlight filtering through the tall windows down the length of the room was enough for them to see by as they made their way past a dozen rows of high shelves toward the very back of the room where the forbidden books were kept. 

There they were; shelf upon shelf of parchment danger. And somewhere, in the midst of it all, the Answer -- the spell they needed to end this terrible war once and for all. For a moment, they merely stood staring at the ancient bindings, then gently, reverently, they raised their hands and laid them against worn leather embossed with gold in lost languages, caressing each book like the face of a lover. _Permission_. The word sang like firewhiskey in their blood, and their head swam with it. 

_Where do we start?_ wondered George. 

_I don't know,_ replied Fred, awed by the wealth of knowledge and potential havoc before his eyes. _With the ones in English, I suppose._

_We don't even know what we're looking for,_ George reminded him. 

_That's the beauty of it,_ insisted Fred. _We can consider all the possibilities these books have to offer. The plan will come from them, not from us. There may be a hundred ways or more to defeat Voldemort. All we have to do is find one of them._

_I suppose so,_ yawned George. _We can work longer if we take turns sleeping again, though, and I don't think I could stay awake another ten minutes. You get started. Wake me at dawn, or if you find anything. We'll talk then._

And then Fred was alone with a hundred thousand possibilities. 

* * *

They spent almost the entire weekend in the Hogwarts library, poring over books, discussing and discarding dozens of ideas, taking notes on the ones with potential, and referencing volumes and page numbers. 

Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny had dropped by to visit them often, though they could not enter the Restricted Section themselves. Fred and George refused to tell the curious teenagers anything about their "research project", but they could clearly see that the twins were working on something important. The twins, for their part, were well aware that things _happened_ to Harry and his friends, and that they often became involved in events which were better left to older, wiser wizards. It was dangerous to let them know too much too soon. The twins thanked them for their offers of help, and told them that they would let them know if there was anything they could do. 

The next thing they wanted to do was to meet with Mr Ollivander, but the wand shop in Diagon Alley was closed for the weekend, and no one seemed to know where its proprietor went when he was not lurking amongst his merchandise, and so they remained in the library under the suspicious but mercifully silent gaze of Madam Pince. 

But now the glint of golden light upon the eastern horizon heralded the dawning of a Monday morning, and it was time at last to close the books, stretch some tired muscles, rub some others, and make their way to London. The quickest way from Hogwarts to the Diagon Alley was Apparition, but in a crowded place like London's main Wizarding shopping district, it usually resulted in awkward jostling, so they opted to walk into Hogsmeade and then Floo from there to the Leaky Cauldron. 

It was a bright and pleasant autumn morning, and the twins were enjoying walking in the sunshine after almost three days of nothing but dim light and books. As they walked, they continued discussing some of the ideas that had begun to grow out of their research. 

"I still say that there's no reason why the wand has to _do_ anything," insisted George. "I mean, if we do the switch at the right moment, and there he armed with a stick against the best marksmen in the Order, isn't that enough?" 

"No," Fred replied stubbornly. "It's got to be more than that. It's not just that I prefer my inventions with a bit more flare to them; it's that -- well, Voldemort's really powerful, isn't he?" 

"Yeah," George agreed cautiously. 

"Almost as powerful as Dumbledore, wouldn't you say? Maybe even more powerful in some ways? After all, he uses the Dark Arts, and Dumbledore would never stoop to that." 

"I guess so --" 

"And we've both seen Dumbledore do wandless magic. Hell, even untrained wizards can do accidental magic without a wand. The wand is just the focus for the power a witch or wizard already has." 

"Oh." George stopped in their tracks. "So what you're saying is that, even without a wand, Voldemort could still be dangerous." 

"Exactly." They began to walk again. "The wand takes the magic from the wizard and focuses it, then amplifies it through the bit of unicorn or dragon or phoenix or whatever is the core of the wand. The power is in the wizard, though, otherwise even Muggles would be able to --" 

"Fred --" George interrupted, stopping short yet again. 

"What?" Fred replied, irritated. "At this rate, we're never going to get to London." 

" _Shhh --_ " George was thinking hard. "I think I've got an idea. Just shut up a minute." 

Fred was quiet for perhaps half a minute before silently asking, _What? What is it?_

_Well,_ George began slowly. _It's like you said. "The wand takes the magic from the wizard"._

_And?_ Fred had always hated not knowing what his brother was thinking. _What of it?_

_It might be nothing,_ George thought as they entered the darkened taproom of the Three Broomsticks. 

They waved distractedly to Madam Rosmerta and headed for the hearth in the corner. 

_I was just thinking,_ George continued. _What if there's a way to actually do that?_

_Do what?_ Fred asked impatiently as they carelessly tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the fire burning in the hearth. 

_Take the magic from the wizard,_ George thought simply. "The Leaky Cauldron," he said, and they stepped into the flames. 

* * *

Isaac Ollivander was in the back room of his shop when he heard the tiny bell over the door tinkle. As he hurried along the narrow walkway between the dozens of shelves containing thousands of wands, he could hear them _humming_ inside their boxes, which meant that his visitor was not a customer. The wands only hummed in greeting when one of their brothers was brought back to them. Most people did not have the finely-tuned senses to detect the vibration, but Ollivander recognised it from long decades of familiarity. 

Reaching the front of the shop, he peered nearsightedly across the counter at the redheaded young man sitting in the spindly chair that was the shop's only furniture. 

"Ah," he said. "Albus was right. There _are_ two of you in there." 

The boy looked surprised. "Everyone else thinks we're mad," he said. "You can really -- er -- _see_ both of us?" 

"It is not my eyes which allow me to perceive that you are both present," he said mysteriously. 

In his line of work, one had to have a keen intuition about people. After all, it was not only the making of fine wands for which he was famous; perhaps the most important aspect of his art was the matching of each wand with the correct witch or wizard. 

Here before him stood one of the most unusual cases of matching he had ever come across. Always, when he made his wands, the components -- both the wood and the magical core -- whispered to him, guiding his hands to match them as they guided him to match the finished product with a witch or wizard. No two were ever exactly the same. But these had been close. An imported wood, he recalled, and dragon heartstrings, both. Length, suppleness, all of it had been near enough as to make no difference. 

At first he had thought that there had been some mistake. For a week, he had feared he was losing his touch. But then Arthur Weasley had arrived with two small boys in tow -- boys so alike that to Ollivander's senses they seemed to be one soul residing in two bodies -- and as soon as he saw them, he had known which wands they would have. There had been no trial and error and re-stacking of disrupted merchandise that time. 

"Fred and George Weasley," he recalled. "Madrona. Dragon heartstrings. Ten and a quarter inches. Supple to the point of bendiness." 

The young man grinned, and with no small flourish, whipped both wands out of his pockets, spun them, and laid them on the counter for inspection. 

"You're such a showoff," he said, suddenly looking irritated. "Not you, Sir," he amended hastily. "Fred. He's got to make a show of everything." 

Ollivander paid them no mind, but leaned forward for a closer inspection of the matching wands. 

"This one has sustained some damage," he noted with disapproval, prodding the wand on the right. 

"Mine," the boy said. "Fred's, that is. Unfortunate encounter with a bludger. But we fixed it." 

Ollivander looked up sharply. "Fixed it, you say? One of mine?" He shook his head and made a clucking noise. "You should have brought it in. Home repair jobs can have unpredictable results. Still, it looks as though you were able to return it to fair working order." 

He folded his hands and blinking owlishly at them. "Albus said you might have some unusual business for me. How can I help you boys?" 

The young man cleared his throat. "We'd like you to tell us as much as you can remember about a wand you sold a number of years ago. If you can." 

"Which wand would that be?" he asked shrewdly, but he had already guessed. His intuition rarely failed him. 

"You would have sold it to a boy called Tom Riddle about sixty years ago." 

Ollivander nodded. "That one. Yes. I remember it well. Yew with a phoenix feather core. From Dumbledore's bird, I recall. Thirteen and a half inches and unusually rigid." 

The twins nodded eagerly. "Can you remember it exactly?" they asked. "Near enough to make a replica?" 

The old man smiled a little regretfully. "I can remember it, just as I made it. Every curve and bud. But to find a branch similar enough to fool the wizard who has carried that wand for over half a century? I fear the task would be nearly impossible." 

The twins only looked more determined at these words. "Tell us what you can remember, Sir. We'll worry about the rest." 

"Oh, I can do better than that, boys," he smiled. "One of the great benefits of having an excellent memory and a fairly steady hand is that I should be able to draw the wand for you, just as I remember it. But I remember it new," he warned them, picking up the damaged wand in front of him. "Fifty or sixty years of wear on a wand will leave its mark." 

"We know someone who's seen the wand more recently, Sir. Don't worry about that." 

"The Potter boy? Yes. I suppose he would have. But how's his memory?" He tapped his temple with the damaged wand. 

"We'll find out," they insisted confidently. "Now, let us just show you a little prototype we've put together."


	7. Wand and Spell

The Forbidden Forest was almost as much home to the Weasley twins as the Hogwarts library by night. They had promised Hagrid that they would come back to the castle by dark, since they could not "hunt the wild yew," as Fred put it, after the sun had set, in any case. It was back to the library for them tonight, to find a spell that might drain Voldemort of his power. 

As they searched for the telltale needles beneath the protective spread of the oak's fingered leaves, they became aware that they were being followed. Quickly, they ducked behind a large tree and slid around to peer past the trunk, watching the path carefully. There was a slight crunching sound, and a tiny twig snapped in half, seemingly of its own accord. 

_It's Harry in his Invisibility Cloak,_ thought George. _Probably our baby brother, too._

_Let's have some fun,_ Fred suggested, and George, grinning, nodded agreement. 

_One, two, three!_

They sprang from behind the tree and tackled the place where they guessed the becloaked teenagers to be. There was an abrupt moment of contact with an invisible Something, and all of them went sprawling, to the sound of a few cries of surprise. 

It was not only Harry and Ron beneath the cloak; Hermione was there, and Ginny, as well. The four Hogwarts students struggled to disentangle themselves from the folds of slithery fabric, looking strangely dismembered as they did so. 

The twins raised an eyebrow. "Unless the school rules have changed dramatically since our day," George admonished, "I'm fairly certain that students aren't meant to be prowling the forest unattended, even in daylight hours. So there's only us with permission to be here." 

"Oh, shut up, George," said Ginny distractedly. It was hard to tell if she was trying to unwrap herself from the troublesome, slippery fabric, or bind Harry, who was still struggling to escape, closer to her. "When did either of you ever give a knut about _permission_?" 

"How did you know it was me?" George asked, surprised. 

Ginny grinned. "If either of you was going to be disapproving about us being here, it would be you, George." 

"She's got a point there," Fred agreed cheerfully. "I don't give a toss about permission. Never did. You kids want to give us a hand?" 

"Fred!" There was a warning note in George's voice. "We don't want to get them involved. We discussed this, remember? It's too dangerous." 

"Don't be such a Percy, George," said Fred as three of the four faces lit up at the mention of danger. "Where's the harm in enlisting a little help to find a stick?" 

A brief internal struggle ensued, much to the bemusement of the four young Gryffindors, the end result of which was that they were shown a bit of parchment with, as advertised, a stick drawn on it, by a twin with a resigned expression. 

"We're trying to find a yew branch a little over a foot long that looks exactly like this. If it's close enough, we might be able to nudge the contours. Think you can manage that without getting yourselves into too much trouble?" 

They gazed at the drawing for a moment, then dashed off in different directions. It quickly became clear that the girls were going to be much more helpful in their quest than the boys. Ginny and Hermione studied the trees, branch by branch, working as a team, and pausing frequently to consult Ollivander's sketch. 

"What do you think about this one, Ginny?" 

"It looks about the right shape, but it's a bit long, don't you think? And it says here 'unusually rigid'. This feels pretty bendy to me." 

Several paces away, male voices were saying, "What's a yew tree look like?" 

"I think yews have needles," came a doubtful reply. "That's got leaves." 

Once the yew was correctly identified, and their enthusiasm kicked in, it took the form of an earnest struggle of the "Man versus Nature" variety. 

"It doesn't help," George said critically as Harry tore yet another six foot branch from the sad little sapling, "for you to remove every single sodding branch from the tree and bring it back here to compare with the drawing. Could you not be just a touch more methodical?" 

By the time the light began to fail, however, they had a collection of about half a dozen twigs that "might do", though none of them was a perfect match, much to the twins' disappointment. 

"What do you need it for?" asked Hermione, gazing once more at the drawing in the diminishing light. "Isn't yew wand wood?" 

"Wand wood?" Harry glanced back at the drawing then cocked his head to one side. Apparently seeing it from that angle made all the difference. "Hey! That's --" 

" _Shhh!_ " admonished George. 

"Oh, come on! He's going to tell them the second we're out of earshot anyway," said Fred. "Yes," he informed the others. "It's Voldemort's wand. We're making a replica for -- something." 

"Is it something for the --" Ginny lowered her voice to a whisper "-- the _Order_?" 

"Sort of," began George, weighing his words carefully. He wanted to strike the right balance between assuaging their curiosity and discouraging them from trying to help. "It's --" 

"We think we may have found a way to end the war," Fred cut in smugly. 

If they had been in separate bodies, George would have shot him a poisonous look. As it was, they managed to look both smug and disgusted at once, which was quite a feat. Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Hermione were now staring at them more eagerly than ever. 

"Well?" demanded Ron. "Spill it!" 

"Oh, all right!" George sighed. "We're trying to make a replica of Voldemort's wand so we can swap them. That's all the plan we have so far, though. We still don't know for sure what the fake wand is going to do, just that it's somehow going to damage his powers." 

Harry was staring at the sketch, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Would it help --" he began hoarsely, then cleared his throat. "Would it help if the tree the stick came from was somehow -- I dunno -- _connected_ to Voldemort?" 

"It might," Fred replied slowly. "How d'you mean, 'connected'?" 

"Well," said Harry, still gazing at the drawing, "in fourth year, when Cedric d -- I mean, at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, when I got whisked off to that graveyard -- you know, when Voldemort did the spell and made himself a body -- I remember there was a yew tree there. A really big, old one, and it was really close to his father's grave." He looked up at the twins. "I just thought that, maybe, since it was so important for him to use his father's bones to come back -- well, maybe something that grew out of his father's grave could help bring him down." 

The twins looked thoughtful as he finished, and the other three were all staring at Harry as though seeing him for the first time. 

"That's actually a really good thought, Harry," murmured Hermione. "There's lots of spells where having a flesh and blood connection to someone makes a huge difference. And Voldemort killed his father, didn't he? I'm sure Mr Riddle would want to help stop his murderer if he could. That desire could still be there, feeding the tree." 

"Too bad it's not his mum's grave," said Ron. "If she was anything like _our_ Mum, imagine how much trouble he'd be in!" 

Ginny giggled, but the twins stared thoughtfully at their younger brother. 

"Yeah," said Fred. "That would be interesting." 

They thanked their siblings and their friends, and shooed them back up to the castle with a promise that if they found a way for them or Dumbledore's Army to help, they would let them know straight away. 

"Well, that was more useful than I was expecting," said Fred, chucking the small bundle of carefully collected twigs into the bushes. 

"Yeah," said George. "But shouldn't we maybe hang onto those ones, just in case the tree Harry was talking about doesn't have anything we can use?" 

"No," said Fred thoughtfully. "I suspect it will have _exactly_ what we need. Life can be funny that way." 

"Once we've got it, we should meet with Harry privately for a description of the wand, I think," George said. "He'll probably tell Ginny, Ron, and Hermione whatever we talk about anyway, but I think he'll be less self-conscious about answering our questions if we can get him alone." 

"Good point," said Fred. _And now we just need a spell to go with the stick,_ he continued, switching over to their more private silent communication. 

_Not only that,_ George replied. _We'll need a spell for attaching the spell to the wand, and who knows what else?_

_We'll find it,_ thought Fred confidently. _There's a million spells in the Restricted Section. We just have to keep looking. And now that we have an idea of what to look for, it will be pie finding it._

"Mmmm -- pie!" George said out loud. "I wonder if we can scrounge ourselves a good, old-fashioned Hogwarts house-elf cooked meal?" 

* * *

In the end, the book they needed was not even in the Restricted Section. It sat on a high shelf amidst a row of very dull-looking Wizarding medical texts. _Marvelous Advances in Twentieth Century Wizarding Medicine_ , was the title. From the dust alone, it was apparent that no students had had this book out in years, if ever. 

Fred had been dozing for nearly an hour in the sleepy, dust mote filled sunlight of late afternoon several days later, when he was awakened by his brother's sudden shout. 

" _Wha_ \--?" 

A cluster of first years feverishly studying for an early-term Transfiguration test looked up, startled. By now, they were used to the schizophrenic carryings-on of the red-haired man in the library, but usually he did not make quite so much noise. He blushed slightly and apologised to the goggling children. 

_Here, Fred. Look at this!_ he said silently as the students' eyes returned to their books. _"Inspired by the less sophisticated Medieval Leeching Charm, the Sponge Charm has saved the lives of hundreds of witches and wizards over the past twenty years."_

_What does it do?_ asked Fred sleepily. 

Shhh! _Listen a minute,_ George urged impatiently. _"In the case of some diseases which attack a wizard's magical ability, slowly draining away his life force, this spell may be applied to temporarily remove said magical ability, so that the disease, deprived of its sustenance, departs or dies."_

"Perfect!" declared Fred, forgetting once more to be quiet. "Sorry," he said to the first years again. _No, that's great! Just the sort of thing we were looking for. Can we make it work with the wand, though?_

_Let's see --_ George continued reading. _Hmmm -- the only problem I can see is here, where it says that for the charm to work properly, the location of the disease within the body must be discovered, and the charm must be applied directly to it._

_Could we -- is there any way to make the spell -- er --_ bigger _, so that it hits him anyway, even if it's not focussed on him? I mean, it's not like we're worried about hurting him._

_It's possible, I suppose._ George was thinking hard. _What if --_ He thumbed through the stack of notes they had made over the last fortnight. _Ah ha! Here it is!_

_Who ever says "ah ha"?_ asked Fred. 

Shhh! _Look. Remember that spell we found in_ Brimming with Power: A Wizard's Handbook to Mastery of the Dark Arts _?_

A shiver ran down their spine. _You mean the one that looked and smelled like it was written in blood? How could I forget?_

_And here I thought you were napping all last week!_ George chided. _Yeah, that one. There was a spell there that said if a wizard was powerful enough, he could take some of his own raw power and invest an object with it, to give a spell an extra boost._

Fred nodded. _We were doing a little of that, anyway,_ he replied. _To make the prototype wand feel right. But you think we could do more?_

_Definitely. With our combined power, we've easily got enough for this._

_So, how are we going to work it?_

George thought for a moment. _What if we store the additional power in the tip of the wand and the Sponge charm right behind it? Then, when Voldemort tries to force a spell down the wand, it will more or less bash the Sponge charm and the extra power together, knocking them out the tip. Sort of like how a Muggle gun works._

_But what about the spell Voldemort is doing at the time? It could go wild and hit someone nearby._

_Yes,_ George thought grimly. _And if we're the ones switching the wands, we'll probably be closest to him at the time._

_We might die,_ Fred pointed out. 

_We might,_ George allowed. _But wouldn't it be worth it to be the ones to end this war?_


	8. Eurydice

"We think we've come up with something that might work, Sir." 

It was the following morning, and the twins were once more sitting across the desk from Albus Dumbledore. Crisp, golden autumn sunlight was spilling through the windows and glinting off the many whirring and clicking instruments that filled the room. Dumbledore did not interrupt as they explained about the Sponge charm they had discovered, and the idea they had for investing the faux wand with their own power to boost the spell. 

"We know it's dangerous, Sir. We know there are -- er -- certain risks involved. But we're very willing to take those risks ourselves," George added hurriedly. 

At last, the old headmaster nodded. "Very impressive, lads. It seems that this plan of yours has every chance of working, even considering the risks." 

He gave them a sharp look which they returned steadily, and he saw that they understood well what they were getting into. 

"But," he continued, "there are still many more details which need to be considered. Have you found the proper materials for the false wand you intend to make?" 

They shifted uncomfortably in their seat before Fred replied, "Well, Sir, that was something we wanted to talk to you about. Harry mentioned --" 

"You've involved Harry in your plans?" There was a sharp edge to Dumbledore's voice. 

"No," said Fred quickly. "No, not _involved_ exactly. We were just talking about the wand, since -- er -- he's seen it more recently than just about anyone else, and Harry mentioned seeing a yew tree in the graveyard where Voldemort -- er -- came back." 

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, eyebrows raised inquiringly. "Go on." 

"Well, we were just thinking," George said in a rush. "If Voldemort could use his father's bones to get his body back, would it be possible that using a tree growing near his grave would help somehow, too?" 

Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment. "Yes, that might affect the spell's outcome, I suppose. But Tom Riddle Sr was a Muggle. Voldemort could use his bones to rebuild his own body because Riddle was his father. But a wand is a magical item, not part of a wizard's body." 

"Oh." The twins looked disappointed. 

"Little Hangleton is a Muggle village," Dumbledore continued. "However, there was a young witch who lived there at one time. Do you know the story of Voldemort's parents?" 

"Only what Harry's mentioned," Fred replied. "That Voldemort's father was a Muggle who left his mother when he learned she was a witch. She died giving birth to him, and he was sent to a Muggle orphanage. He came back and killed his father when he was a teenager." 

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, Voldemort's mother was a witch. She lived in the village in a small house left to her by her father. She had just finished her sixth year at this school when she fell in love with Tom Riddle. That is as much as anyone knows for certain. She sent an owl to Headmaster Dippet that summer, saying that she would not be returning for her seventh year. Eight months later, the name 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' appeared in the Hogwarts book, and she was dead." 

The three of them were silent for a moment. 

"So," Fred said tentatively, "She could be buried there as well? I mean, if she's buried anywhere near the yew tree, that could make all the difference, right?" 

"It could indeed," said Dumbledore, and some of the old twinkle was back in his eyes. 

* * *

They could not Apparate into the Little Hangleton cemetery without being noticed. However, Dumbledore had told them about a cottage nearby which was unlikely to be occupied. 

They arrived with a sharp popping noise in a small, dark kitchen. A thick layer of dust covered everything. The washing up was still sitting in the sink, but it was clear that no one had lived there for some time. 

They left the cottage, quietly closing the door behind them as if closing a tomb, and walked down through an overgrown garden which belonged to a somewhat shabby and rundown manor house. Beyond the manor and down the hill, they found the graveyard, lying between the house and the rest of the village. 

The graveyard was almost as overgrown as the garden had been, except for a section clearly in current use by the village. Stones of greater and lesser legibility jutted up at odd angles, or lay resigned to obscurity in the long grass. A number of trees grew in the graveyard, their roots nudging the stones this way and that, but the yew tree was easy to spot. It was the largest, and stood almost at the centre of the graveyard, its canopy shading more than fifty stones. 

"Dammit," George said. "There really are some things that would take less time if there were still two of us." 

The low iron gate gave a screech of protest as they pushed it open. They found Tom Riddle Sr's grave quickly enough; the stone was large and ornate, proclaiming a monied family. His parents' stone stood nearby, equally pompous. But nowhere near them could they locate the stone with the name Dumbledore had given them. 

They searched every stone still standing until the daylight began to fade. At last, they flopped down amongst the roots of the yew tree in despair. 

"We're never going to find it," said Fred. "She's not here." 

"Maybe we missed it," George suggested. "We'll look again --" 

"The stone you're looking for is that one you've got your feet up on." 

They jumped at the sound of the unexpected voice, looking around wildly. A ghost was leaning against the yew tree, looking down at them curiously. She was young -- younger than they were -- slender and very pretty, and she was gazing at them with narrowed eyes. 

"Who are you?" asked George, too startled to be polite. 

"I've been watching you all afternoon," she said. "So few people come here anymore. I heard you talking to yourself. You're a wizard, aren't you?" 

"We're not talking to ourselves," explained Fred. "There's two of us in here. It's complicated. If you've been following us around all day, why haven't we seen you before now?" 

The ghost looked away toward the setting sun. "I'm hard to see in the daylight," she said simply. "Why are you looking for me?" 

"Looking for --?" said Fred. "You're not --! _You're_ his mum?! But you're just a girl! You're barely older than our sister." 

She smiled at them a little sadly and sat down on a root nearby. "I heard you say my name when you first got here. It made me curious; that's why I was following you. No one has come to see me in a long time." She nodded toward their feet. "Turn the stone over and you'll see." 

It was not a very large stone, though the white marble from which it was made was of good quality, and it was only a moment's work to turn it face up. And indeed, once righted, the stone read, "Eurydice MacEoghan, 1909 - 1927". The only decoration was a small serpent carved between the name and the dates. 

"The symbol of my house," she said, tracing it as if she could touch it. "I was so proud of it. It doesn't seem so much like something to be proud of anymore." She sighed. "You're here because of him, aren't you? Because of my son?" She did not meet their eyes. 

"Yes," admitted George, still trying to reconcile the pretty young girl before him with the evil and horror perpetrated by Voldemort. 

"I know what he is," she said, still gazing at the serpent. "I've always known." 

"How --?" George cleared their throat. "How could you know? You said yourself hardly anyone ever comes here, and I bet none of them are wizards." 

"I had a bit of a gift for Divination," she replied, looking up at last. "The most promising Seer to come to Hogwarts in a dozen years, I was told. There was a job waiting for me in the Department of Mysteries, if I had wanted it." She sighed and looked away again, this time up at the derelict manor house. 

"But then I met Tom. He was clever and handsome, and he always made me laugh. But he was a Muggle. My father would have been horrified if he had lived to see it. I loved him, though --" Her voice trailed away. 

"But he left you," said Fred. "When he found out you were a witch." 

She looked back at them curiously. "No," she said. "No, he didn't care that I was a witch." She sighed. "His parents found out. They wouldn't hear of it. They forbade him to see me. But by then, I was pregnant. I wrote my letter to Hogwarts relinquishing my place." 

A sad look settled on her face. "We kept seeing one another in secret, but he couldn't sneak away often. He told me that as soon as he turned eighteen, there was no way they could deny him a share of the family fortune. He swore that, as soon as that happened, he would marry me, and we would go away together. But it was never going to happen, and I knew it. I didn't have the heart to tell Tom, though. 

"The night our baby was born, Tom couldn't get away. I was all alone. A woman from the village heard my cries and came to find me, but it was too late. I told her my baby's name, and then I died," she ended simply. 

"Do you know what happened after that?" asked George softly. 

The girl looked so sad that he longed to put his arms around her and comfort her, but he knew it was impossible. 

"Yes," she said quietly. "Yes, Tom told me the rest of it. His parents didn't care anymore once I was dead. He was allowed to visit my grave as often as he liked." Her voice was bitter. "There wasn't even a stone for me until he was old enough to claim some of the family's fortune. But that's why he stayed. He hated his parents, but he wanted to be near me, so he stayed with them for sixteen years." She shook her head sadly. 

"Tom told me that the woman from the village had brought the baby up to the house, but his parents wouldn't take him, so he was sent to a Muggle orphanage. When Tom was old enough, he tried to track down our son, but he couldn't find him. We talked about how nice it would be if he had been adopted by a family who loved him. But I knew he never was, and I never told Tom what I Saw." 

"What did you See?" asked Fred. 

"I Saw what my baby would become." There were tears in her eyes. "I saw evil and death and a terrible lust for power. All Slytherins are ambitious, but we're not cold-hearted killers who will stop at nothing to gain our own ends. 

"When he came back, I knew him at once. He looked just like his father had when we first met. I was afraid," she confessed. "I hid, and didn't speak to him. Perhaps I should have. He sat all day beneath my tree, staring up at the house. In the evening, he went up. I saw the green light. He didn't come back this way." Ghostly tears spilled from her eyes. "Five days later, they brought my Tom and his parents down and buried them there." She waved a pale hand at the conspicuous, silent monuments. 

"I waited. For days I sat, waiting by his grave, hoping he'd come back to me and we'd be able to touch at long last. But he wasn't afraid to die like I was. I had known what would happen to my son if I died, and I was terrified. But Tom and I had sixteen years together after that, and death didn't scare him anymore. He was gone. He was just bone in the ground. And our son took even that from me two years ago," she finished bitterly. 

"I'm sorry," said George, clearing their throat, which felt tight after hearing the girl's story. "That's really awful." 

"And now you're here," she said, looking at them again as if from far away. "Why have you come to me now? What do you want?" 

They looked uncomfortable. "Well," said Fred, "We really weren't expecting to find you here. Not like this, I mean," he added, gesturing toward her transparent body. "It's this tree, really. We were hoping that you were -- er -- buried near it. That some of your essence, I guess you might say, had gone into the tree." 

She looked at them blankly. "What do you need my tree for?" 

"We're -- er -- it's complicated." Fred said. 

"Try me," Eurydice suggested with a slight smile. "I was frequently accused of being one of the cleverest witches at Hogwarts. I'm sure I'll understand if you give me a chance." 

So, reluctantly, they told her about the wand and the spell and the idea that a blood connection might help. 

"We know he's your son," George finished apologetically, "but --" 

"No, I understand," she said sadly. She made as if to put her hand on their knee, but drew back again. "My son he may be, and I love him, always. But he is evil," she said with conviction. "He cannot be permitted to go on." 

She looked directly into their eyes. "I will help you."


	9. Dumbledore's Army

The replacement wand took longer than they had anticipated. It was winter, in fact, before they had something they thought "might do". To make a stick resemble a wand -- that was one thing. To make that stick convincing enough to fool the wizard who had held it in his hand every day -- or at least, every day that he had had hands -- for over fifty years, was something else entirely. 

Ollivander might have a flawless memory of the bends and bumps of the wand when it was made, but it was Harry's imperfect memory they would have to rely upon for any wear and tear or spots of discolouration it had gained since eleven-year-old Tom Riddle had laid down his money over half a century ago. 

Fortunately for the twins, Harry was not hard to find; all they had to do was follow the pink strings of the Extendable Ears from the door of their laboratory up the stairs to their younger brother's room. 

" _Tsk, tsk_! Listening at keyholes!" Fred clucked in mock dismay at the matching guilty expressions on the boys' faces. "Wherever did you pick up such a shocking bad habit, little brother?" 

Harry, who was staying with the Weasley family over the Christmas holidays, had the grace to look abashed, but Ron grimaced and threw the end of the Ear at his brothers. 

"We just want to know what's going on. But you never bloody _say_ anything!" 

"Well, we have something to say now," replied George. "Or ask, rather. Harry, could we have a word?" 

Harry looked thoroughly startled. "Me? What do you want to talk to me about?" 

"Some things are better discussed in private." The twins narrowed their eyes meaningfully at Ron. "Away from prying ears." 

"Let's go for a walk," suggested Fred. 

Harry cast a glowering Ron an apologetic look, and followed the twins out of the room. 

"What's up?" he asked. 

"Not here," insisted Fred. He plucked something off the floor, held it up to his mouth and said loudly, "Someone might be listening!" 

A squeak came from the landing above, and then Ginny's face was peering over the railing. 

"You bastards!" she declared. "That bloody _hurt_!" 

"Such language!" The twins shook their head in mock disappointment. "To think our only sister has a mouth like that. A spanking might just be in order. Harry, you'll see to it later?" 

Ginny's snort of disgust did not quite hide her amusement as she flounced back into her room. Harry blushed, but could not hide a smile, either. 

It was a fine day for December. They left the Burrow and walked in silence for some time. As they passed through the village of Ottery St Catchpole, Harry belatedly realised they were headed for Stoatshead Hill, where they had all taken a portkey to the Quidditch World Cup over three years before. 

George confirmed Harry's guess. "It's in the middle of nowhere, so we're not likely to be overheard, and we'll see anyone coming a long way off." 

When they reached the top of the hill, the twins flopped down onto the dead winter grass and took out a long roll of parchment and a quill. 

"Right," Fred began. "Harry, we need you to tell us everything you can about Voldemort's wand." 

Harry deflated and collapsed onto the ground beside them, pulling his cloak close around him against the chill. "Oh, that," he said grimly. 

"We know it's hard to think about it," said George, not unkindly. "But it's really important that we know as much as we can about the wand. How it looked. What it felt like." 

They reached into their other pocket and drew out a long, thin piece of wood. 

"We'll start with this," said Fred. 

Harry gazed at the stick for a long moment. 

"That's really good," he said at last, impressed. 

The twins beamed. Harry put out a finger and touched the smooth wood. 

"It's darker than this," he said softly. "Like old wood, you know? It's been handled a lot." 

The twins made a note on their parchment. "Aging the wood should be a fairly simple charm. What else?" 

"The buds were all gone." Harry pointed in turn to each of the four small bumps along the twig. "I guess they would wear off after a while. And the places where they were are worn smooth." 

"You're sure?" asked George distractedly, busily making notes. 

"It was pointed right at my face," Harry said coldly. "I'm sure." 

"Sorry," mumbled George. "I didn't mean --" 

Harry shook his head. "I know. It's okay." 

"Anything else?" 

"Just that there was a mark right about here." Harry laid a finger below the second bud. "Sort of at an angle, like someone had tried to cut it in two. It was too dark at the time to say for sure, and I only saw the wand up close for a couple of seconds, but it might have been deep enough to see the wand's core. It's phoenix feather. Like mine." 

"How's this?" The twins showed him the drawing they had been working on. "Does that look right?" 

Harry looked for a long moment. "Yeah," he said at last. "That's really close." 

"Brilliant," said Fred. "Now, what did it feel like?" 

Harry blushed. 

"What's the matter?" asked George. "Can't you remember?" 

"No. I mean, I can --" Harry started. "It's just -- you know how you think about things that you don't ever really talk to anyone else about, and you start to have your own words for them?" 

"Sure," replied Fred. "George and I do that all the time. We have words for things and ideas that I don't think anyone else would understand." 

"Right," Harry said, nodding. "Well, it's like that. When I think about different magic, and how it feels, I think of it like colours. I'm not sure if I can explain it properly, but the wand felt -- green. Bright green." 

"Hmmm." The twins scratched their nose with the tip of their quill, leaving behind a smear of ink. Reaching into yet another pocket, they pulled out both of their wands, handing them to Harry. "How do these feel?" 

Harry weighed the wands in his hand for a moment. "They're sort of -- a dark red. Like wine." 

"What does yours feel like?" Fred asked curiously. 

"Mine?" Harry seemed startled, as if he had been asked something very personal. "Mine's blue-green. But almost as dark as yours." 

"I think we're going to need some more wands," said George. "We should have Harry look at as many wands as possible, and compare his 'colours' to how they feel for us. See if we can work out some sort of magical 'spectrum'." 

"We'll deal with that later," replied Fred impatiently. "We've got other things to discuss now." 

"Like what?" asked Harry suspiciously. 

"Like whether or not Voldemort can actually be killed," Fred said. 

"Oh," said Harry. "Well, I suppose he can be --" 

"But the Killing Curse didn't kill him when you were a baby," George reminded him. "Why should it work now?" 

"Because --" Harry bit his lip and appeared to be thinking quite hard. "Because of something he said that night. In the graveyard." 

The twins looked hopeful. "What was that?" 

"It was -- he said -- he was 'willing to embrace mortal life again, before chasing immortality.' So that must mean he came back mortal, right?" 

The twins looked thoughtful. 

"I suppose it must," Fred said at last. "Or at least, he was mortal two years ago. I guess there's no telling, now." 

"Is there anything else?" Harry asked. "Your mum will want us back for lunch soon." 

"There is." Fred cleared their throat. "Not about magic or Voldemort, though. About money." 

"Money?" Harry asked, surprised. 

The twins nodded. "You gave us your Triwizard winnings to invest in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," said George. "The business has really grown, and we'd like to pay you back." 

"You know that's not necessary --" Harry began. 

"It is," insisted Fred. "We want you to buy Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes from us." 

" _What?!_ You're selling me your business? Why? What am I going to do with a joke shop?" 

"Nothing," Fred told him. "You don't have to do anything. In fact, we want you to sell it to Lee Jordan." 

"Right." Harry looked nonplussed. "Now I'm really confused. You want to sell me the shop so I can sell it on why, exactly?" 

The twins sighed. "We love that place, Harry," George told him. "But we need the money more, and we need it now. Lupin's already promised us some of what Sirius left the Order, but it's not enough, and Lee can't afford to buy the shop off us straight up. You can. 

"We sell the shop to you for a price we can all agree upon, and you'll sell it to Lee on an installment plan. In the meantime, you'll take in twenty-five percent of the store's profits by right of ownership. Lee gets twenty-five percent for running the business, and another twenty-five to distribute among his employees. The remaining twenty-five percent still comes to us as owners of the patents on a number of items." 

"Or," added Fred, "In the event that something should happen to us, it goes to Mum and Dad. By the time Lee's done paying you off, the shop will have paid for itself three times over, straight into your Gringotts account. Does that sound fair to you?" 

"It does," Harry replied weakly. "Can I ask what you need the money for?" 

"You may," Fred allowed with a grin. 

"Well? What is it?" 

"Don't you think it's about time someone armed Dumbledore's Army?" said George smugly. 

* * *

One week into the winter term at Hogwarts, Fred and George had managed to acquire everything they would need for their plan. They had thought it best to be as organised as possible before they spoke with Dumbledore again. When they were finally able to meet with the headmaster, they were surprised by how little resistance he offered, despite the dangerous nature of what they proposed. 

"It is a good plan," he told them. "Of course there are risks involved, but in war it cannot be otherwise. All I ask of you is that you involve no student who is not yet seventeen years of age. What the witches and wizards who are of age choose to do is not for me to decide. If you carry out your plan as you've explained it to me, and if you prepare them properly, I think perhaps that they will be in no more danger than they would be if the war continued unabated." 

The twins could not suppress a grin of excitement. "Thank you, Sir," said George as humbly as he could manage. "We'll do our best." 

"I know you will. I have informed Harry of our meeting today, and I believe he has assembled his 'army'. They are in the Room of Requirement, awaiting their orders. I suggest you go and speak to them before they expire of curiosity." 

* * *

Dumbledore's Army had not grown much in the previous year, and Harry had informed the twins that, since the unceremonious departure of Professor Umbridge, the group had met only irregularly for refresher sessions. Harry had also mentioned that most of the new members were younger students, though he had refused to allow anyone below third year to join, for reasons of safety. 

"They just don't have enough control yet," he had told the twins regretfully. "I hate disappointing them, but I don't want any accidents." 

Thirty pairs of eyes greeted Fred and George with varying expressions of eagerness, curiosity and apprehension, as they entered the Room of Requirement with a heavy sling across their back, followed by Hagrid, carrying a large crate. 

"Most of you know the Weasley twins," Harry introduced them to the group as they and the gamekeeper set down their burdens on a sturdy table. "They're Ron and Ginny's brothers, and they have a proposal they think might interest us. I'd like you to give them your full attention." 

The twins bowed. _You do it, thought George. You're better at this sort of thing._

_All right,_ replied Fred. _But I won't have you interrupting or disagreeing with me. We need to present a unified front if we want these kids to have any confidence in us. We don't want them thinking we're crazy. Agreed?_

_Then you'd better get started,_ George informed him. _They're staring._

Fred smiled broadly. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he began. "This war stinks, and my brother and I think it has gone on long enough. To that end, we have a new concept in training this year: Muggle weapons!" 

Gasps and cries of confusion filled the room as Hagrid tipped over the crate, and crossbows went spilling across the table. 

"Muggle weapons?" a young boy the twins did not recognise said scornfully. "What do we want with _those_ when we have magic?" 

Fred grinned. "For one thing, it's the last thing Voldemort and his Death Eaters will be expecting." A few of the assembled students squeaked in alarm at the mention of the Dark wizard's name. "He and his minions won't have the first clue how to fight back. And for another, you're not going to have your wands with you when we face them." 

This statement was met with uproar. 

"No _wands_?!" 

"We'll all be killed!" 

"You can't expect us to --" 

Fred held up his hands for silence. "No one is going to force you to participate in this experiment. Please, just allow me a moment to explain." 

* * *

In the end, thirty wands were lined up neatly on a second large table while Muggle weapons were distributed among the students. The twins asked Harry to arrange the wands into a spectrum for them, and then let them know where Voldemort's wand would fall. 

"We want as many people on crossbows as possible," George informed the students. "Most of the Death Eaters will be bigger and stronger than you, so maintaining a distance will be to your advantage. 

"I'll want a few staff-fighters as well," he went on. "Size and strength are an advantage with the staff, I am told, so that's going to be mostly the older boys. Though anyone is welcome to try, of course," he added hastily when their sister shot them a poisonous look. "Just so you all know, Dumbledore has expressly forbidden anyone under the age of seventeen from taking part in a confrontation --" 

Groans of disappointment filled the air. 

" _However_ ," George continued loudly, "You will all be trained. We have no idea when this event is going to take place, and the training certainly can't hurt." 

"Why did you have to bring weapons?" asked Padma Patil. "Shouldn't the room just provide them?" 

"I'm glad you asked that." George gave her a winning smile. "Yes, if we had asked it to, the room would have provided weapons for everyone. However, those weapons could not have been removed from the room. Just as you perform your best magic with your own wand, you will do your best fighting with a familiar crossbow or staff. These weapons are yours to keep. Take good care of them." 

"But who's going to train us?" asked Neville Longbottom. 

"That's me!" replied Hagrid cheerfully. "I'll be teachin' yeh basic crossbow safety today. Once yer ready ter start target practice, I'll be takin' aside any who want ter learn staff-fightin' as well." 

A few of the students looked a little nervous at the thought of going toe-to-toe with the huge gamekeeper, but they gamely took up their crossbows and clustered around him. 

Fred and George went to the back of the room to see how Harry's wand spectrum was coming along. 

"I've got them all laid out," he told them, pointing to the square of wands on the table. "The 'reds' are down at this end, running through 'violet' at this end. I've got the 'darker' ones here at the bottom, and the 'brighter' ones at the top." He tapped the table at the top of the square, just to the right of centre. "That's where Voldemort's wand would be. I'm sure of it." 

The twins nodded and experimentally picked up a few of the wands which lay around the empty space, to feel what they had in common. 

"So this is what green feels like?" asked Fred, amused. 

"Yeah." Harry blushed self-consciously. "But that one you've got there is more yellow." 

They nodded. "Thanks, Harry. You have provided an invaluable service. You'd best get to your training, though, hadn't you?" 

Harry sighed. "I expect I'm too short and skinny for the staff, aren't I?" 

"Probably," agreed George. "I expect that's why Dumbledore wanted you to have this." 

Harry gasped. He clearly had not noticed the sword they had been holding in their other hand. It gleamed silver in the afternoon light, and the large ruby in the pommel seemed to glow. 

"Gryffindor's sword?" Harry whispered, reverently taking it from the twins and feeling the weight of it in his hands. "Dumbledore wanted _me_ to have it?" 

"That's what the man said." 

"But --" the boy protested, "I don't know how to use a sword! Not really. I mean, in the Chamber of Secrets, I was fighting a giant snake, not a person. You're not telling me that _Hagrid_ can train me with this?" 

"Harry gets a sword?" Ernie Macmillan inquired pompously. "My father's been training me in fencing every school holiday since I was ten. Would it be all right if I wrote asking him to send mine?" 

"You've had training?" asked the twins, surprised. "That would be a serious asset." 

"Spiffing!" declared Ernie, shaking hands with them. "I'll just be off to the Owlery to let Father know, then." 

"I think I'd like a sword," said a misty, faraway voice. 

Harry and the twins turned to see Luna Lovegood wandering over as if by accident. 

"Er -- that's great, Luna," said Harry. "Do you guys think she could?" 

"Dunno," replied Fred. "We don't really have any more at the moment." 

"Oh, that's all right," Luna assured them. "I'll make my own." 

"Umm -- sure thing, Luna," George said uncertainly. "But not just now. Maybe for today, you could work with Hagrid?" 

She gave them a smile that seemed to be directed somewhere over the twins' right shoulder, and wandered back to the cluster of students. 

Fred whistled. "Three swordsmen, then. And no one to train them." 

"We _are_ in the Room of Requirement," Harry pointed out. 

The twins blinked at him. "Now why didn't we think of that, Fred?" asked George. "Oi! Room! Give us a swordsman!" 

There was a sound like a match being lit, and the ghost of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington appeared in the room. 

"Harry!" Nearly-Headless Nick greeted the boy cordially. "And -- er -- Weasley." He nodded to the twins, his not-quite-severed head rocking dangerously on his neck. 

"Hullo, Nick," Harry replied, saluting the ghost with a wave of his sword. "We were just wondering if you could do us a favour?" 

"Anything for young Harry Potter, as I always tell my friend -- Good Lord!" cried Nick. "That's Gryffindor's sword, isn't it? Does the headmaster know you've got it?" 

Harry beamed self-consciously. "He gave it to me, Nick. We -- I was wondering, do you think you could teach me how to use it?" 

Nick stroked his ghostly beard and gazed thoughtfully at the sword. "Yes, I suppose so," he said at last. "In fact, I'd be honoured. But it has been a very long time since I handled a sword myself. And of course I won't be able to duel with you, Harry. You realise that, of course? Hmmm -- I suppose I could bring in someone for demonstrations -- not any of those nincompoops from the Headless Hunt, of course -- but you need someone to practice with, Harry. Someone -- er -- tangible." 

"He's got me," said Ernie importantly, coming through the door and brushing a few bits of owl fluff from his robes. "I've asked father to send up my sword as soon as he can manage it." 

"And me," Luna added cheerfully, carefully leveling her crossbow at a target, apparently unaware that it was not loaded. 

"Will that do?" asked Fred. 

"Indeed," replied Sir Nicholas. "I think three will be splendid."


	10. The Last Marauder

Remus looked at the row of fake wands with a frown. "What exactly is it that you boys want me to do with these?" They were sitting in the study at Twelve Grimmauld Place, and judging from the unusual silence, they were alone in the house for once. All that could be heard was the flames crackling in the hearth, holding back the winter chill. Soft evening light filtered through the curtains and the silently drifting snow outside. 

"We need you to test them," said George, between sips of hot cocoa. "We -- Kreacher's not here, is he?" he asked, suddenly wary. He glanced toward the study door, half expecting to see an ugly little face peering back at him. 

"No. Harry's ordered him to the Hogwarts kitchens. He wasn't happy to go, but he didn't have a choice." Remus's tone held a bitter edge. It was clear that he still at least partially blamed the house-elf for Sirius's death. 

"Right." The twins shifted uncomfortably in their seat, and turned their attention back to the matter at hand. "Er -- Each wand has been invested with the same spell, the same amount of power. Ten was all we could do at once. Our magical reserve won't be up to full strength again for a week or more." 

"You couldn't have Dumbledore's Army test them?" Remus inquired, adding a healthy measure of firewhiskey to his own cocoa. "No, obviously not." 

The twins shook their head. "Testing them anywhere near Hogwarts or Hogsmeade would be ridiculous, and possibly dangerous as well. You understand what they do?" 

Remus nodded, sipping from the steaming mug demurely. 

"Besides that," George continued, "We're not sure they won't damage any nearby magical items, so when you test them, you'll have to leave your wand behind." 

"That could be dangerous," Remus said sharply. 

"We know," replied George. "But they have to be tested. We need to know how long the effect lasts and what the range is like. You'll probably want to take two or three members of the Order with you to check." 

Remus sighed. "You're right, of course. There's no such thing as 'playing it safe' in times of war. How are Harry's lot coming along with their training?" 

The twins sat back in the old leather armchair. "Really well, we think. It's only been a month, but Hagrid's got nothing but praise for our crossbows, and he's already got eight fairly promising staff-fighters as well, including Neville Longbottom and our brother Ron." 

"Excellent. What of the swordsmen?" Remus asked with a smile. 

"Well, you already know Harry's got Seeker reflexes. Even that pompous Hufflepuff was impressed. Seems he's a bit of a natural. Either that, or he's got Gryffindor's blessing." 

Remus grinned outright at that. "I shouldn't be surprised. Harry is all Gryffindor. 'More balls than brains,' James always use to say. James -- Harry's father -- was like that, too. And Sirius." 

"I've seen him practicing," George said quietly. "They would be proud." 

"I don't doubt it," Remus replied a little sadly. "How's the wand coming along?" 

"Well enough," Fred admitted. "It's not perfect, but then, we don't think it's ever going to be. It only needs to fool him for a few seconds. We shouldn't need more than that." 

Remus puffed out his cheeks thoughtfully as he let out his breath. "So that's it," he said. "All that remains now is to get the fighters trained up to the best of their abilities, and test the limits of these things." 

"And find Voldemort," Fred reminded him. "Has the Order had any luck with that yet?" 

"No," said Remus with a sigh. "Not yet. We've had agents searching high and low. We've even been employing your wonderful Invisibility potion. But no luck so far. A few of our agents have gone missing, though, and all of them in the south, so that's probably where he is." 

"Who's gone missing?" asked George, dismayed. "Anyone we know?" 

"Well," Remus amended, "It might be rather early to use the term 'missing' for most of them, since they've only been out of contact for a week or so, but Severus Snape has been gone for well over a month, with no word. I hear that old Professor Slughorn is teaching Potions in his place." 

"Yeah, he is. So Snape's run back to Voldie-pants, has he?" Fred said unsympathetically. 

"That or dead." Remus's tone did not sound as though he was inclined to give Snape the benefit of the doubt. "If he shows up again, I wouldn't like to be him. Moody'll have his balls." 

The twins grimaced. 

"I've never understood how Dumbledore could trust that man," said George. Then he grinned. "If only we had a map of Britain like the one we used to have of Hogwarts. It was amazing. You could see everything and everyone. If we had a huge map like that of the whole country that showed where every witch or wizard was, we'd find him in no time. Snape and Voldemort both." 

Remus looked at them sharply. "A map? What happened to this wonderful map of yours?" 

"Oh," Fred waved a hand. "We gave it to Harry ages ago. He's put it to enough uses to make us proud." 

"And was this map by any chance made by Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. 

The twins blinked. "Yes, it was. Why? Do you know them?" 

Remus smiled wryly. "You know, Harry once asked me that very question. I'm surprised he never told you." 

For a moment, incomprehension suffused the twins' face, but then -- " _Moony!_ " laughed Fred. "So that would mean Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs had to be -- Oh, we are so _thick_! George and I never put it together!" 

"Well, we didn't use the nicknames much in public," Remus allowed. "They had to do with the others' Animagi forms, obviously, and my own Lycanthropy, none of which were exactly public knowledge." 

"Wow." The twins shook their head in amazement. "You guys were _legend_! George and I never came close. We've heard whispers about the Marauders for years, and -- wow. That was _you_." They gazed admiringly at the shabby, gray man. 

Remus's smile was a little sad. "It was all a very long time ago," he reminded them. "It's not me anymore. The Marauders are long dead. They died on an October night sixteen years ago. Now I'm just a stuffy old man trying to figure out how to win a war when we don't even know where the enemy are." 

"Could _you_ make a map?" asked George. "Something that could lead us to him?" 

Remus shook his head. "The Marauder's Map took months to create, and it was mostly James and Sirius who put it together, with an idea from me or Peter thrown in every now and then. Finding people is surprisingly hard. One needs to have a real connection with someone before one can locate them from any kind of distance." 

"A connection," said George slowly. "You mean, like the connection Harry has with Voldemort, maybe?" 

Remus's jaw dropped. "No. You _cannot_ use Harry for something like that. That connection is _dangerous_. Dumbledore's been trying to shield -- You just _can't_ , all right? You'd be putting Harry in terrible danger, not to mention possibly leaving your plans wide open to Voldemort. I forbid it." 

The twins sighed, leaning back in their chair, and put their hands over their face. "We don't mean to fight you, Remus," said George. "It's just -- Harry's an adult now, and those decisions aren't up to you." 

"Don't --" There was a hint of pleading in Remus's voice. "Let us look a little longer. Harry's all I've got left." 

"But you're happy enough for us to take him into battle?" asked Fred curiously. 

Remus sighed. "No, not 'happy', per se. But that's different. With the plan you've got worked out, we'd be taking the Death Eaters unawares, which will give us the advantage, and casualties will probably be minimal. But as soon as Harry goes out actively seeking Voldemort -- Voldemort would know it right away. The connection is strong, and even Dumbledore doesn't understand it entirely. But we know that Voldemort knows when Harry is trying to see into his mind." 

"All right," the twins agreed at last. "We won't mention it to Harry. For now." 

"Thank you," Remus said quietly. "We're doing our best, you know. The Aurors are interrogating every Dark wizard we catch, and the rest of us are helping where we can, though there's very little we can do." 

"It doesn't matter," Fred told him. "When the time comes, I think we'll be ready." 

Remus nodded. "When the time comes, I'd like to come with you." He opened the drawer of the large, heavy desk and removed a metal object, which he laid in front of the twins. Fred and George stared at it for a long moment. 

"Where did you get it?" asked George at last. "We checked when we were researching Muggle weapons. Guns are illegal in Britain, or we would have got those instead of bloody crossbows and staffs!" 

Remus shrugged. "I've had it a long time. There are ways of getting them if you really want them, but they're not cheap. What matters is, I know how to use it. Bellatrix Lestrange isn't going to take _me_ by surprise." His voice held a measure of grim satisfaction. 

"We'll talk to Harry," said George. "I can't imagine he'd be anything other than honoured to have you stand and fight beside him and the Army." 

"Good," said Remus. "Because your father wants in, too." 

"Dad? Really?" said Fred. He looked down at the gun again. "You're not thinking of giving him one of these, are you?" he asked suspiciously. "You know how wild Dad goes for Muggle stuff." 

Remus smiled. "Don't worry; I have something else in mind for Arthur. He'll love it." 

* * *

The wand was finished -- as finished as it was ever going to be. Hagrid and Sir Nicholas's progress reports on the training of the troops were entirely satisfactory. One by one, the missing Order members were accounted for -- all but Severus Snape -- and yet there was still no word concerning the whereabouts of Voldemort. In fact, there had been no reported sightings of Death Eaters in months. 

_He's planning something,_ George said one sleepless night in May. 

_I know it,_ Fred replied, staring up at the darkened ceiling of their guest room at Hogwarts. The Order had moved its headquarters to the school some weeks before for the sake of convenience. _You know it. Remus knows it. Dumbledore knows it. Everybody bloody knows it, but we've got no bloody clue what!_

George sighed in frustration. The usual rush of excitement brought on by the inception of spring had this year manifested itself as an edgy jitteriness among the members of the Order and Dumbledore's Army. They were all aware that they should rest as much as possible, because it -- whatever "it" was -- could happen at any time. In consequence, hardly anyone was sleeping well anymore. 

_Whatever it is,_ thought George, _it's big. And knowing Voldemort and his lot, it's got to be pretty horrible as well. We need to stop them before they can --_

_Stop them?_ Fred interrupted in disgust. _We can't even bloody_ find _them! I say if there's no news in three days' time, we go to Harry._

_But Remus --_ interjected George. 

_This war is bigger than Remus or Harry or us or anyone,_ Fred cut in. _If it were up to me, I'd go to Harry tomorrow and tell him to start looking for a way to use his connection with Voldemort to find him without him realising he's been found._

_You think he could?_ George asked, stifling a yawn. 

_You know me,_ thought Fred with a grim smile. _I think anything's possible, if you want it bad enough. The right words, the right spell, the right people -- it can be done._

George yawned again. _All right, then. Tomorrow. But don't tell Remus. I'm going to try to get some sleep._

* * *

At first they thought it was the wind whistling through the chinks between the castles stones that woke them. The sound of it filled their ears in the darkness and made them shiver, despite the warmth of the room. Then there was a hand on their shoulder, and the night came into focus around the figure of Remus Lupin. He was wearing striped pyjama bottoms and an old shirt the twins thought might have belonged to Sirius. 

"Get dressed," he was saying. "Come on." 

"Wha- where're we going?" Fred asked groggily. 

"We're meeting in the Great Hall. There was a message from Dumbledore. Something's happened. He didn't say what, but it's big, whatever it is. He wants us there now." 

The twins were already pulling on their clothes. "What does he need us for?" asked George, hopping on one leg as they pulled on their jeans. 

Remus shook his head. "I'm not sure. But I don't think it's just us. Come on; the sooner we get there, the sooner we'll know. 

Without the usual four long tables and the accompanying candles hanging in the air above them, the Great Hall seemed dark and empty, its ceiling a canopy of velvety black, spangled with stars. The only light came from a pair of torches to either side of the entrance, and from the wand in Dumbledore's hand, illuminating the face of Severus Snape. 

Snape's expression was one of grim satisfaction tinged with fear as he surveyed the silent assembly gathered in the large, echoing room. Thick ropes bound him hand and foot to a chair at the front of the hall, but his posture was that of a king enthroned. In one hand, he clutched a small leather-bound book like a talisman. 

Members of the Order and Dumbledore's Army filed sleepily in, and the room echoed with hushed voices as they speculated about Snape's presence, and about why they had been called here at this time of night. 

The twins saw Harry and Ron move almost instinctively toward Ginny and Hermione -- Neville's round face and rounder eyes as he stared at the former Potions master -- Luna, looking around with a smile and waving to people, as if she had met her friends here by chance -- their mother, holding tight to their father's arm -- Moody, both eyes and his wand fixed on Snape -- Remus and Tonks standing near the front of the hall, their mouths set in grim lines. 

Dumbledore's gaze swept the room, and he appeared to be taking a mental tally of those present. Then he nodded to Hagrid, standing near the doors, and the enormous gamekeeper turned to close them. Dumbledore cleared his throat. The sound echoed off stone, and all other voices quietened. 

"I have summoned you all here to bear witness to the words of Severus Snape," he said, voice carrying to every corner of the Great Hall. "He brings us the secret of Voldemort's whereabouts." 

Moody harumphed. "Voldemort trusted that one as his Secret-Keeper? He must be madder than we thought." 

It was Snape himself who replied. "I would not say that he 'trusted' me as his Secret-Keeper, but he has given me that dubious honour." 

"And you're here to share it with us, is that right?" Moody scoffed. "We're meant to believe you're not just sending us off to an ambush, like dimwitted sheep?" 

Snape looked coldly Moody in his magical eye. "You'll have your proof. My information is good." 

"What proof can you offer?" 

"My life," Snape spat bitterly. "When Voldemort made me his Secret-Keeper, he had me make an Unbreakable Vow that I would never reveal the whereabouts of his headquarters to any but his Death Eaters." 

The room rang with stunned silence. 

"Why would you forfeit your life to bring us this information?" Moody's voice was still suspicious, but the mockery had gone from it. 

"To prove my loyalty." Snape raised his chin and seemed to look squarely at Harry, who stiffened. "All of you have doubted me, suspected me, mocked me. I expect you'll all be sorry for it now, but that's no concern of mine. Voldemort bought his downfall from me seventeen years ago, and I mean to see he gets his money's worth." 

Dumbledore, standing beside Snape, laid a hand on his shoulder. "Do you mean to do it, Severus?" he asked quietly. 

"I do," replied Snape, not looking up at the headmaster. 

Dumbledore nodded once. His eyes were sad. "Very well. Speak then, Severus. I am here." 

Snape's hand clenched convulsively around the small leather-bound book he held. He drew a last deep breath. 

"The headquarters of the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters is located at the former St Nicholas Home for Children in London." 

Snape's teeth clenched. He never made a sound, and Dumbledore's hand never left his shoulder as his robes began to smolder. His flesh blackened and shriveled, charring from the inside out. A crackling sound could be heard in the horrified silence of the room. His hands curled into skeletal claws and a wisp of black smoke issued from his mouth. But his eyes never left Harry's until the glaze of death covered them. 

Fred and George averted their own eyes, sickened by the sight. 

It was Dumbledore who spoke first, voice heavy, hand still resting on the shoulder of Snape's body. 

"We must move quickly," he said. "It will not be long before they realise Severus has left them. The sooner we set our plans in motion, the greater our chance of success." 

He looked at the twins. "Is everything in order?" 

They cleared their throat. "Yes, Sir. We'll be ready to move as soon as you give the word." 

Dumbledore nodded, turning to Moody. "Take your people now, and go," he said. "Find suitable positions. You know the plan. Hold those positions until the signal." 

Moody nodded, gesturing to the Aurors. They departed in silence. 

"The rest of you, meet back here at first light," Dumbledore continued. "I would prefer that you all stay here at Hogwarts tonight, but if you wish to return to your homes and your families for a few hours, I understand. Get some sleep. Tomorrow, God willing, we will end this war." 

As people moved toward the door in twos and threes and families, Dumbledore stepped away from Snape's ruined corpse at last, and gestured for the twins to join him. Glancing nervously and the twisted, bound body, they did as the headmaster bade them. Dumbledore held out his hand, and the twins instinctively cupped theirs underneath to catch a tiny, glittering object. 

"I believe you said that one of these would greatly aid your plan," Dumbledore said with a tired smile. 

Fred and George stared at the miniscule hourglass on the long golden chain. 

"I thought they were all destroyed in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries," George said reverently, stroking the curve of one glass bulb with a single finger. 

"The ones held at the Ministry were," affirmed Dumbledore. "That one was given on loan to Hogwarts for the duration of Hermione Granger's education. She turned it in four years ago, but I thought it prudent to keep it by -- just in case, you understand." 

The twins looked up into the twinkling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore. "Thank you, Sir. This will be a huge help tomorrow." 

"Use it well."


	11. The Night Before

The twins were sitting in their room, dressed in their pyjamas, staring at the finished wand when their father put his head in. 

"Can't sleep?" he asked sympathetically. 

"No," yawned George. "But we should. We need to be sharp tomorrow. This is our moment of glory, after all." 

Arthur came over to the desk and looked down at the wand as well. It was surrounded by dozens of crystal phials containing amber liquid. A slight scent of caramel hung in the air. 

"This is it, then?" he asked softly. "This is the weapon that's going to bring down You-Know-Who once and for all?" 

"We hope so." 

"Can I -- hold it?" 

"Sure thing, Dad." 

They handed the length of yew to their father, who turned it over in his hands. 

"It doesn't look like much," he said skeptically. 

"It isn't," said Fred with a grin. "That's the beauty of it, isn't it? They'll never see it coming. I can almost see the _Prophet_ headlines now. 'You-Know-Who Defeated by Joke-Shop Wand'." 

Arthur Weasley still looked uncertain. "If you're sure --" 

His sons looked up at him. "It'll be all right, Dad. We worked out the plan with Dumbledore. He thinks it's a good one." 

Their father sighed and set the wand down again. His hand came to rest on his sons' shoulder. 

"You should get some sleep," he said. 

"We'll try in a bit." 

"Would it help if -- I told you a story?" 

The twins blinked. Their father had not offered them a bedtime story since before they had started at Hogwarts. They had always enjoyed his enthusiastic retellings of Muggle adventure stories, especially so-called fairy tales of evil, warty witches and mad wizards who all seemed to resemble Dumbledore. 

They grinned. "Sure, Dad. That sounds great." 

"Into bed, then." 

Sometime during their sojourn at Hogwarts, their mother had apparently insisted on transforming their room back into a bedroom. They climbed gratefully into the bed and settled back against the pillows. Their father drew a chair up beside them and adopted his storytelling posture, hands clasped together in his lap. 

"Many years ago," he began, "there were two young, brilliant wizards." 

"Were they twins, Dad?" George asked eagerly, forgetting his age for a moment and asking one of the many questions the two of them had loved to ask as small boys. 

Arthur tweaked their nose. "They were. Just like you. And they were handsome and clever and had any number of fine qualities that made them popular and well-loved by those who knew them. But no one loved them so much as their older sister." 

"We don't have an older sister!" joked Fred. "We've got all the rest, though." 

"You don't," agreed their father, "but they did. 

"Now, these wizards were terrible practical jokers, and when they were younger, they had never been out of trouble. Their sister often had cause to tell them off for their wild behaviour and wicked sense of humour, and they would laugh and kiss her forehead and tell her that she had won them over and swear that they were reformed. Until the next time. 

"But these young wizards did more than just craft pranks. They were also very brave. When they were young, a Dark wizard arose in the land, and they swore that when they came of age, they would put all their considerable talents at the disposal of those who wished to defeat him. 

"They went to Hogwarts and they learned everything they could, knowing that the answer must be somewhere, and that they would need all their shared wits to find it. But of course they paid special attention in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and there they excelled. Despite their patchy education -- for they had a different teacher in that subject every year -- they spent their spare time practicing jinxes, hexes, and defensive magic on one another -- and on not a few innocent bystanders -- honing their reflexes to make themselves the best that they could be. 

"But in spite of the seriousness of their studies and the darkness of the world around them, they never lost their wicked sense of humour, nor their passion for finely-crafted pranks. As the day of their seventeenth birthday approached, their sister became more and more worried that her brothers might soon be put in real danger, and she feared losing them. 

"When at last the day arrived, even though it was their birthday, the brothers presented their sister with a gift -- a magnificent clock whose face showed not the time, but the whereabouts of themselves, her husband and her little sons -- for she was already a mother of three. You'll know the kind of clock I mean?" 

"Yeah," the twins grinned. "Like Mum has." 

Their mother had come to lean against the door frame, listening to her husband's story. 

"Exactly like," Arthur Weasley turned to beam at his wife. "Their sister kept that clock by her at all times, for she always worried too much about everyone in her family." 

Molly Weasley snorted at that. "Too much! As if you never --" 

Arthur put up a quelling hand. "Let me finish my story." 

"I already know how it ends," she said, the smile fading from her mouth. 

"It's time our boys did, too." 

She nodded, silent. 

"Where was I?" said Arthur, turning back to his sons. 

"The sister and her clock," chorused the twins. 

"So I was. Well, most of the time that first year she had it, the clock only showed her that her brothers were at Hogwarts, her husband was at work, and her small sons were at home, usually right where she could see them. 

"The months and seasons passed, and the twins left Hogwarts, and went out into the world to employ their skills against the darkness that oppressed it. They joined the Order of the Phoenix, and proved to be a great asset, fighting shoulder to shoulder with such skill that all agreed that it was as if they were one spirit in two bodies. 

"Not long after leaving Hogwarts, they learned that their sister was going to have another baby. As her condition progressed, the brothers fought and laughed, begging her to name it after one of them. 'Name him after me,' one would say. 'I'm better looking.' 'No, name him after me,' the second one would reply. 'I'm smarter.' And their sister would laugh and cuff them affectionately and tell them that this time it was sure to be a girl, and that she would never dream of naming her child after such inconsiderate brothers who made their sister worry all the time. 

"The days passed, and still the hands of the clock never strayed into 'mortal peril', and as long as they did not, the twins' sister knew than her family was safe, and she did not have to worry quite so much as she would have otherwise. 

"But on a cold and wet evening in February, all that changed. The sister was just starting to make dinner with one eye on her young sons and one eye on her magnificent clock -- for she must have had three eyes and at least as many hands to do everything she did -- when the clock made a clicking, whirring noise, and the hands containing her brothers' named clicked over to 'mortal peril'. 

"The sister did not know what to do. Her husband was at work still, and in those days, they were so poor that they had no owl to send messages, and no Floo powder either, and the brooms they owned were old and slow. 

"She knew she had to go to her brothers' aid, for although she frequently worried, she was also a very brave woman. Dangerous as it was to Apparate in her condition, and trusting that her husband would be home within the hour, she left the two younger boys in the care of the eldest, turned on her heel, and trusted in the magic to take her where she was needed. 

"She arrived in a dark and rainy alley, and found her two brothers cornered by no less than five Death Eaters. The twins were grinning and firing curses left and right, but it was clear to their sister that they were gaining no ground. She drew her wand and began hexing the Death Eaters from behind. 

"What happened then, no one knows. Her husband arrived home just in time to see his wife's hand of the clock move from 'mortal peril' to 'hospital'. In a panic, he left his sons with a neighbour and Apparated to St Mungo's. 

"When he arrived there, he learned that the brave twins had been killed, and that his wife was unconscious, having been struck by some unknown hex. When the healers examined her, it was discovered that she was carrying two babies, when a week earlier they had told her she was only carrying one. 

"No one understood how it had happened, but when two healthy boys were born just over a month later, their mother gave them the names of their uncles. They were to be called Frederick Fabian and George Gideon. 

"But as their mother watched them grow, she began to fear for them. For they were smart and reckless, and, it transpired, terrible practical jokers as well. And people often remarked upon how alike they were, commenting that it was as though they were one spirit shared between two bodies." 

Arthur sat back in the chair, silently regarding his sons. For a long moment, no one said anything. Then Fred cleared their throat. 

"I've -- we've never heard that story before." 

"You're very like your uncles," their mother said in a low voice. "I hoped that if you didn't know, maybe you wouldn't follow in their footsteps -- maybe you wouldn't end as young as they did." 

"They were our age, weren't they?" asked George. 

"A few years older," their father told them. "This past couple of years, with all your schemes and plans, it's been almost as if you were picking up where they left off. They would have been proud. We are proud, your mother and I." 

Their mother came forward then and bent down to take them in her arms, her face pressed wetly against their neck. "Be careful tomorrow, won't you?" 

They swallowed. "We'll try," said George. "But Mum -- Dad --?" 

Their father reached out to clasp their hand. 

"If we don't make it tomorrow," George said gently, "try not to be too sad for us." 

Both their parents squeezed convulsively at that. 

"We've got no regrets," Fred told them firmly. "We want to do this. We _need_ to do this. Voldemort and his followers will keep on destroying lives and families until someone stops them. If that someone is us, then we'll do whatever it takes." 

Arthur nodded once, his mouth a grim line, and put his free hand on his wife's back. 

"Whatever happens tomorrow," he said, "we will both always be so proud --" 

He broke off, listening intently. The sound came again from upstairs: the piercing squeak of an old, brass bed frame. Molly Weasley stood up sharply as the sound settled into a steady rhythm. 

"That's Ginny's bed," she said in a flat voice. And then her brain seemed to catch up with what she was hearing. She gasped. "I'm going straight up there and --" 

"Don't." Arthur put a restraining hand on her arm. "They're adults now, Molly. Who knows what may happen tomorrow? Let them have this." 

The twins tried unsuccessfully to disguise a grin as a stifled yawn. Solemn moments had their place, but there was such a things as too much, and this one had gone on long enough. They took a moment to enjoy the conflicting emotions warring on their mother's face. 

"Ginny's not an adult," she said, but the resolve had gone from her voice. "She's only sixteen. She shouldn't --" 

Arthur raised a single ginger eyebrow. "And how old were you, Miss Molly?" 

"That's -- that's different," their mother blustered. "It was -- maybe I was too young, too." 

"You've never said you regretted it," her husband said with a smile. 

She relented at that. "I don't. But -- if they're adults now, what am I going to do?" 

"You've still got me, Mollywobbles," he grinned. "We've raised good kids. Smart kids. We've taught them responsibility and how to take care of themselves. And now it's time to let them go. They'll be fine." 

Molly bowed her head, and then, incredibly, a tiny smile tugged at her mouth. "It feels so odd to be hearing -- to know -- well, Harry's a good boy. I guess I shouldn't complain. He's not likely to lead her astray." 

Arthur gave his wife a fond smile and held out his hand to her. "Come on, Molly. Let's leave our children to their night of dreams and joys and go find some of our own." 

After their parents left, the twins cast noise-muffling charms on the walls, floor and ceiling of their room. People deserved their privacy, they felt, and they were never going to get any sleep with all that racket going on. 

And that was why they never heard the front door open and close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The eight-part spinoff story, _[The Night Before](http://archiveofourown.org/works/973323)_ , which takes place during and immediately following this chapter, visits various other characters as they contemplate the coming battle, and seek comfort from one another.


	12. Into the Serpent's Lair

Ginny Weasley could sound rather terrifyingly like her mother when roused to anger. It was her carrying voice that awoke the twins the following morning. Shaking off a poor night's sleep, they stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen to find their only sister nose-to-nose with Hermione. Ginny's face was red, but Hermione's was dead white. 

"Well, he must have gone after _you_ , then!" Ginny declared. "Where the _hell_ have you been?" 

"I -- I went to Hogwarts! I couldn't sleep. I didn't think --" 

"No, I bet you bloody didn't!" Ginny seethed at her. 

Harry, face as white as Hermione's, raised a hand to lay on Ginny's arm, and then seemed to think better of it. Both girls looked ready to snap. 

"What's going on?" asked Fred, taking the bull by the horns as their parents appeared in the kitchen doorway. 

"Miss Know-It-All here went wandering off last night," hissed Ginny. "Ron went after her, and now he's _missing_!" 

The twins looked around in surprise. It was true. Ron was not in the kitchen. Mrs Weasley gave a sharp cry and hurried to the mantelpiece where her clock sat. All the hands pointed to "home" except for Ron's, which was firmly fixed on "mortal peril". Ginny took one long look at the clock, then turned and slapped Hermione hard across the face. 

" _Ginny!_ " Harry grabbed her by the wrist before she could do it again. 

The twins moved to put an arm around the other girl. "Are you all right?" George asked in a low voice. 

Hermione would not meet any of their eyes. "Ron's gone," she said miserably, tears dripping from the end of her nose as she stared at the floor. "Ginny's right; it's my fault." 

"Too bloody right it is!" Ginny declared. "If they've got him --" 

"That's _enough_ , Ginny." Their father's voice cut across the kitchen like a whip, silencing everyone. He turned to Harry. "What do we do?" 

Harry let go of Ginny and raised his chin, looking at each of them in turn. "We stick to the plan," he said. "We finish this. Now. Today. And when it's done, we bring Ron home with us." 

* * *

They half hoped that when they arrived at Hogwarts, Ron would be there, waiting with the others. They knew it was not likely, but still they looked for the tall, gangling form of their youngest brother. It was Remus, though, who hurried over when the grim-faced cluster of Weasleys arrived. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking around. His sharp eyes were reddened from lack of sleep. "Where's Ron?" 

"That's what we're wondering," George replied quickly before Ginny could say anything. "He disappeared last night, and no one knows where he went." 

Remus's eyes darted to Hermione. She met his gaze with a stricken look, gave a huge sob, and dropped her eyes back to the floor. Remus moved as if he were about to reach for her, but then let his hands fall uselessly back to his sides. 

"We should tell Dumbledore," he said instead, voice tense. 

"Looks like he's coming this way," Arthur said grimly, looking around. 

The tall headmaster strode toward them, dressed uncharacteristically in black, the end of his beard trailing in his wake. A few Order members tried to engage his attention, but he passed them without a glance. His eyes lit on each of the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and Remus in turn. 

"It's Ron, then, is it?" he asked, all the usual good humour gone from his voice. 

"Oh, Professor!" cried Molly. "Do you know where he is?" 

He shook his head. "I can guess, though." 

"Do we go forward with the plan?" Arthur asked the headmaster. 

Dumbledore inclined his head toward the twins inquiringly. 

"They have our brother," George said. "They must. If the plan succeeds, we'll get him back." 

Dumbledore nodded. "I think the time has come to take action." 

"Right." Fred cleared their throat and raised his voice to make himself heard throughout the hall. "Listen up everyone!" 

The assembly fell silent. 

"This is it. Today we'll learn what all our months of planning and training are worth. Does everyone have their weapons in good order?" 

Shouts echoed around the Entrance Hall as people raised staffs, crossbow and swords over their heads. 

"Good. Now remember, the objective is to capture, not to kill, whatever the temptation, unless absolutely necessary. We have the advantage of surprise and training. Defend yourselves, yes, but don't get carried away. We only have to hold them until backup arrives. The Aurors are already standing by. They've been up all night, and probably won't be in a very good mood, so let's not keep then waiting too much longer, shall we?" 

Amid the cries of determination and readiness, Remus raised his hands for quiet once more. 

"If Fenrir Greyback is there," he said, "you leave him to me. Am I understood? He doesn't need magic to be dangerous. I'll deal with him if he needs to be dealt with." 

As the twins double-checked their crossbow and various supplies, they saw Remus lay a hand on their father's arm. The twins grinned, knowing what was coming. 

"I have something for you," Remus said quietly. 

Arthur's eyes lit up when he saw the device, clearly of Muggle origin. "What is it?" 

Remus smiled slightly. "It's called a taser. It won't work in here, though. Muggle technology." 

"What does it do?" Arthur asked in a hushed voice, turning it over in his hands. 

"Ever accidentally shocked yourself with electricity?" 

Arthur nodded. 

"Well, that's what it does, only it's a far more powerful jolt. It's meant to stun an attacker, but if you overuse it, you might kill them, so be careful, all right?" 

Arthur's mouth was set in a determined line. "How do I work it?" 

While Remus was showing Arthur how to operate the taser, only a few feet away, Ginny was facing off with her twin brothers. 

"You won't be seventeen until August," George said reasonably. "You should stay with Mum. She shouldn't have to wait by herself." 

Molly Weasley was not combat trained, and had therefore been assigned the task of looking after everyone's wands during the mission. 

Ginny looked the twins squarely in the eye. "Are you going to try and stop me, brother? They've already killed one of you, and they've taken Ron. Am I to wait meekly behind to see which of my men make it back to me this time? Or are you going to put me somewhere I can do some good?" 

"Ginny, please --" Molly's voice was low and edged with despair. 

"I have no intention of dying today, Mother," Ginny said evenly. "I have the training. I can do this. Maybe I can even make sure one more person comes back alive." 

It was Harry who decided the matter with a hand on Ginny's shoulder. "I've seen her with that crossbow, Mrs Weasley," he said. "There's no one I'd rather have guarding my back." 

"Harry --" Molly pleaded one last time. 

"Do you really think I would risk Ginny's life lightly?" he asked. 

Arthur put an arm around Molly's shoulders. "I'll be there with her, Mollywobbles," he said gently. "I'll keep an eye on her." 

At last Molly bowed her head, shoulders sagging. "All right, then. I can see there's no arguing with you lot. Just -- don't keep me waiting too long." 

Arthur pressed a kiss to her temple. "When the day is won, you'll be the first to know it," he promised. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Dumbledore's voice rang out. "Combatants and assembled heroes, the time has come! Let us make our way in an orderly fashion to the school gates. Keep your crossbows safely stowed, please. If anyone were to be accidentally shot along the way, it would severely undermine my confidence in this outing." 

* * *

They Apparated to a vacant lot less than half a mile from the old orphanage. Morning had come while they made their arrangements, but a thick covering of gray cloud meant that the light was still dim enough that their arrival went unnoticed by busy Muggles on their morning commute. 

"All right, everyone," George said in a loud whisper, putting a comforting arm around his mother's shoulders. "This is it. Please deposit your wands in the bag my lovely assistant is holding, and we will see that they are returned to you once the dust clears." 

The assembled witches and wizards -- many with great reluctance -- parted with the safety of their wands. Harry also handed over his Firebolt and Invisibility Cloak. Molly Weasley kissed each of her children, her husband, Harry and Hermione in turn, mounted Harry's broom, and threw the cloak about her shoulders. 

"Good luck, Mrs Weasley," Harry said, giving her arm a quick squeeze. "And don't worry." 

The twins caught her up in a bear hug. 

"You've been great, Mum," they murmured, breathing in the scents of soap and baking that clung to her. "Just a little longer, all right?" 

She gave a tremulous smile, tears shining in her eyes, and kissed the top of their head. "My heroic boys," she said fondly. "Good luck go with you." 

"And these go with you," said George, placing the Time-Turner and the replica of Voldemort's wand in her hands. "You know where to find Moody?" 

She nodded, carefully stowing the two precious items in an inside pocket of her robes. She wiped her eyes and smiled proudly at them one last time before drawing the hood of the Invisibility Cloak up over her head. And then she was gone. 

The twins took a deep, shaky breath and fixed their smile firmly in place before turning back to their troops. 

"Mum's right. Good luck does, indeed, go with us!" 

From beneath their robes, they drew a bag filled with tiny glass phials of golden potion. 

"Felix Felicis! We had Old Sluggy brew it up special for us. We have here in our hand an hour's luck for each of you, which is more than we'll need. This is just a boost to help get us into position without being detected." 

The largest percentage of their finances had been allocated to purchasing its ingredients, in the hope of ensuring their victory today. 

"And here," Fred continued, drawing out a second bag, "is our own patented Invisibility Draught. Again, an hour's worth for each of you. You'll be able to see one another, but no one else will be able to see you. Queue up, everyone! Old Voldiepants won't see us coming! Oh, come on, people! That was funny!" 

Once they had doled out everyone else's share, the twins approached Remus, Dumbledore and Harry, who stood a little way apart from the main group. 

"Potions?" George asked, holding up the bags. 

"None of the Felix for me," Remus demurred, accepting a phial of the Invisibility Draught. "It can do funny things to werewolves. I'll just have to rely on everyone else's luck to carry me through today. But I haven't noticed any side effects from using your stuff yet, boys. Much better than Polyjuice." 

The twins smiled and bowed before turning to Dumbledore. "Speaking of Polyjuice --?" George inquired. 

Dumbledore removed a small phial from his own pocket. The potion inside swirled blackly, but the occasional sparkle of quicksilver winked from its depths. "I am ready when you are, boys." 

"Will you have some Felix, Professor?" 

"Perhaps a little," Dumbledore replied. "I seem to recalls it has a pleasant flavour." 

The twins smiled and turned back to their troops. "To your good health! Bottoms up, everyone!" 

With expressions ranging from eagerness for action to wariness at trying a new potion, Dumbledore's Army downed the lot. The twins beamed with pride and turned back to Dumbledore. 

"How do we look, Professor?" asked Fred. 

"Marvelous! You are all quite invisible." 

He unstoppered the black phial and quickly swallowed the contents. 

"Not bad," he said thoughtfully. "Licorice. But with a slightly bitter edge." 

"Only slightly?" asked Harry, with a grim smile as the headmaster's features morphed into those of Severus Snape. 

"It does not become you to make jokes at Severus's expense, Harry," Dumbledore admonished. "He was a brave man who gave his life so that we might have this chance to change the world. He has earned his rest and our respect." 

Harry looked slightly abashed. "Sorry, Professor." 

"Now," continued Dumbledore, smiling in a way that looked entirely wrong on Snape's thin lips. "We should be on our way." 

"Professor," Harry said hesitantly. "Once the wand is activated, you should probably -- er -- I mean, you're a very powerful wizard, but you won't --" 

"Never fear, Harry," Dumbledore beamed. "I am not entirely defenceless." He drew back his robes to expose the hilt of a longsword clipped to his side. "A family heirloom. I've no great skill, but I know which end to grab hold of. Dumbledore's Army, after all. I should be doing something to help out." 

"All right, then," Harry nodded, then turned to the twins. "Fred? George? Are we ready?" 

They made their way quietly through the streets, their dose of luck potion keeping them from bumping into any unsuspecting Muggles. Within ten minutes, they were passing through iron gates, the forbidding bulk of the St Nicholas Home for Children looming over them. The twins glanced covertly at Dumbledore, but with the grim and impatient expression he wore, it was impossible to tell that it was not Severus Snape who accompanied them. 

Harry motioned, and the Army fell back to allow Dumbledore to approach the entrance alone. He tapped sharply on the door with Snape's wand, and a moment later it creaked open to reveal the scowling face of Rabastan Lestrange. 

"Snape," he grunted. "You're late. Come on. We've got one of theirs. The Dark Lord is just about to begin questioning him." 

The Weasleys, Harry and Hermione glanced at one another fearfully. 

_He's alive,_ George said silently. _That's something._

_No knowing what they've done to him though,_ Fred answered grimly as Dumbledore stepped through the doorway and into the stronghold of the enemy. 

The door swung closed behind Dumbledore, and the twins held their breath for the space of five seconds before making their own cautious approach. Placing a hand on the door, they found that the headmaster had contrived to leave it open a crack. They turned to give the others a silent thumbs-up before pressing an ear to the door. No sound came from the other side. 

Perhaps it was the influence of the Felix Felicis which oiled the hinges, allowing the door to swing open silently. They entered, nearly two dozen of them, their footsteps making barely a sound on the threadbare carpet of the entry hall. It was only once they were all inside that they heard voices coming from down the corridor. Stepping lightly, they followed the sounds down a hallway and through a doorway which opened into a room nearly as big as the Hogwarts Entrance Hall. 

Voldemort sat enthroned at the opposite end of the room, idly tapping his wand against the arm of his chair. Lestrange and Dumbledore stood near the door, but no one seemed to have noticed their appearance. All eyes were focussed on the centre of the room, where a redheaded form sat slumped on the floor, head bowed, eyes closed, apparently oblivious to his surroundings. The hulking form of Fenrir Greyback prowled around him. 

"Let me have him, My Lord," the werewolf whined. "Look how fair his skin is. It shows my marks so well. He'll tell you all -- even his most shameful, trivial secrets -- before I'm through with him. Let me play with him a bit more." 

This seemed to amuse Voldemort. He smiled, and many of his Death Eaters laughed appreciatively. 

"I may just do that," the Dark wizard replied. "If he is not yet compliant and forthcoming enough for my liking." 

Stepping back, Greyback, rejoined the throng of Death Eaters, a disappointed scowl on his face. Voldemort regarded the crumpled, unresponsive form of Ron Weasley. 

"What say you, boy? Do you want to dance with Fenrir, or are you ready to talk to me? I can see into your mind if I so wish, but it would be a much sweeter victory to hear you betray your friends out of your own mouth." 

Ron did not look up or even move. He gave no indication that he had even heard the taunt. 

"I asked you a question, boy." Voldemort's voice was impatient. He raised his wand. " _Crucio!_ " 

A scream like a wounded animal rent the air as Ron's body convulsed. Neville blanched visibly. Ginny's jaw tightened. Hermione took a step forward, but Harry grabbed her arm, restraining her. A few feet in front of them, the man who looked like Severus Snape raised a hand to brush an invisible speck of dust from his robes. It was a small movement, but it served its purpose. Voldemort's head turned to follow it, and his red eyes found those of the man he had thought his spy inside Hogwarts. 

"Severus," he said with cold pleasantry. "I had expected you sooner." 

"My Lord," Dumbledore replied stiffly, not glancing at Ron. "Please accept my humble apologies for not arriving earlier. I was unable to get away from my post at Hogwarts before now without arousing suspicions." 

At the sound of Snape's voice, Ron opened his eyes. He stared openmouthed at the man he had seen die not twelve hours before. Then the twins saw the flicker of realisation light his eyes. 

"Our young guest does not seem pleased to see you, Severus," Voldemort said mildly. "Hasn't Dumbledore taught you to show your teachers respect, boy?" 

"I knew it!" Ron cried, rising to his knees and fixing an expression of shock and anger to his face. "You! Everyone always said how you were Dumbledore's man -- how he _trusted_ you. But I knew what you were all along. A filthy, lying, disgusting --" 

"You know nothing, Weasley!" Dumbledore snapped in chilling imitation of the Potions master. "Through all, I have kept faith and been constant in my service to my true master. The Dark Lord is quite correct; it is high time you were taught proper manners." 

He drew Snape's wand and looked up to where Voldemort sat. "My Lord, with your permission?" 

Voldemort nodded approvingly. Dumbledore raised the wand and pointed it directly at Ron's chest. Ron did not have to feign a look of horrified confusion. 

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_ " Dumbledore shouted.


	13. While the Other Survives

The great silver phoenix soared over the heads of the startled Death Eaters. It swooped low, ruffling the twins' hair as it passed overhead, and flew swiftly through the door to fulfill its mission -- a signal to Moody and his Aurors that the moment was at hand. 

In the split second of silence that followed the appearance of the Patronus, the Death Eaters and Voldemort stared in shock at the man they thought to be Severus Snape, who stared back, holding Voldemort's gaze. Then, with a tiny _pop_ , a redheaded figure appeared, grinning, at Voldemort's shoulder. 

_Oh look,_ thought Fred in delight. _There's two of us again._

The grinning man made what looked like a clumsy grab for Voldemort's wand. Whatever power Dumbledore's gaze held, it made the Dark wizard's reactions a beat too slow. Only the twins caught the deft flick of their double's fingers as the true wand disappeared down a sleeve, and the false one clattered to the floor at Voldemort's feet. 

With a lurch, the world began to move again. 

" _Hold them!_ " Voldemort screamed, rising to his feet. 

Instantly, every Death Eater's wand was in his or her hand, trained on Dumbledore or the visible twins. 

White with fury, Voldemort swooped to grab the wand from the floor, then spun, jabbing it at the twins. He breathed deeply once, twice, visibly gathering the shreds of his composure about him. When at last he spoke, there was mockery on his lips, but murder still burned cold in his eyes. 

" _This_ is Dumbledore's brilliant plan to defeat me?" he asked. "Sending a clumsy boy to steal my wand? Lord Voldemort has no time for such childish games. _Avada Kedavra!_ " 

A soundless explosion rocked the room as the wand activated. The recently-appeared twins took the main force of the diluted curse, and were blasted backward to crumple against the wall. A cry of horror went up from the Death Eaters as Severus Snape vanished, and Albus Dumbledore, accompanied by two dozen armed fighters, appeared in their midst. 

The first twin felt the magic go out of the room, and suddenly he was alone again inside his head, with only one thought remaining: _I must get to him._

He sprinted across the hall, elbowing aside Death Eaters too stunned by the realisation that their wands were useless to try and stop him, seeing only the face that mirrored his own, and echoed that dreadful moment a year before when they had almost been separated forever. 

"Don't be dead, don't be dead," he pleaded, falling to his knees beside the pale, limp form of his twin. 

As he pulled his brother's body into his arms, miraculously his eyes opened, and a smile cleared away the pain that furrowed his brow. 

"It's so good to see you again, brother," he whispered. 

"Yeah," the first twin grinned. "It really is. Did we do all right?" 

"We did," the second agreed, smiling wearily and turning his eyes toward the crowded room. "You don't want to miss this. Watch us win." 

* * *

Voldemort stared at the wand in his hand, wondering what had just happened. He held it up to the light to examine it more closely, and a scream of rage escaped his thin, pale lips as he realised he had been tricked. 

Half a dozen or more crossbows moved in to surround the panicked Death Eaters. They were backed up by as many staff fighters. The Potter boy stood with the sword of Godric Gryffindor in his hand, shouting commands. Another boy and girl, also wielding swords, stood back, watching to see if any Death Eaters would break the circle formed by their comrades. 

"Spread out!" shrieked the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange. "Don't let them box you in!" 

She raised her silver dagger high, eyes darting madly about the room. The blade descended in a slashing arc that opened a bloody gash in the arm of a nearby crossbowman. He cried out, taking an involuntary step backward, and Bellatrix pushed him aside, ducking between the staffs. 

"Never fear, my friends," she said with a laugh. "This lot haven't the balls to kill." 

"I wouldn't count on that if I were you," a red-haired girl replied coldly. 

Voldemort reached for his own blade. 

"Keep your hands where I can see them, if you please, Tom." 

Voldemort froze. Dumbledore's voice was pleasant, but the sword pointing directly at Voldemort's heart was decidedly unfriendly. 

"Are you going to kill me, old man?" he asked. 

"I would very much prefer not to," Dumbledore replied. He stepped forward, pushed Voldemort's robes aside, and removed the silver blade from its sheath at the Dark wizard's belt. 

Voldemort looked at him coldly. "So what happens now?" 

"Now," Dumbledore said calmly, "we wait." 

* * *

Hermione felt the magic go out of the room. 

"Ron!" she cried, rushing forward, nearly colliding with the twins as they ran to their fallen double. The battle did not matter. Only one thing mattered now. 

"Hermione!" An expression of relief and joy suffused his pale face as he looked up at her. "You're all right! I went looking for you. I couldn't find you --" 

Guilt squirmed in her guts. She fell to her knees before him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his neck. 

"I'm sorry!" she said tearfully. "I'm so sorry, Ron. I c-came back and you were gone! I was so scared. It's all my f-fault!" 

His arms were around her, his hands stroking her hair. "Hush. Don't talk like that. It was stupid of me, going off and letting myself get caught like that. Not your fault." 

She shook her head but could not speak -- could never tell him where she had gone or why. Much better, she told herself, if she put it from her mind and never thought about it again. Ron was what mattered. She took a deep breath and raised her head. 

"Ron, are you all right?" she asked. "Did they -- are you -- hurt at all?" 

A shadow passed behind his eyes, and his mouth became grim. "I'm all right," he replied with so much conviction that Hermione was sure he was trying to convince himself as much as her. 

"What did they --?" 

He shook his head. "You don't want to know. And I don't want to talk about it." 

Suddenly, he clutched her arm, struggling to rise to his feet. She helped him up, and he staggered toward a door leading off the main hall, dragging her with him. 

"Ron, what --?" 

He turned to her, a feverish look in his eye. "Malfoy! He's here. We've got to --" 

Her eyes moved through the mass of people fighting, surrendering, bleeding, falling. 

"Ron, he's not here. I don't see him." 

"No!" he said impatiently, dragging her with him once more. "He's here. And we've got to help him. I promised. Last night, I told him --" 

"But he's one of _them_ , Ron!" she cried. 

The shadow flickered again behind his eyes. "Not anymore, he's not." 

She was about to ask him what he meant by that, when a low growl came from behind them. Hermione whirled to find yellow eyes staring into her own. 

"No! Don't!" Ron's voice was unusually high and panicked as he clung to her. 

"Little wolf-toys try to run," taunted Greyback. "Don't you want to play anymore?" 

* * *

" _Hold them!_ " Harry bellowed to his troops. "Hold your formation. Don't break for any reason. If they try anything -- _anything_ \-- you _will_ shoot them. _Am I understood?_ " 

"Loud and clear, Harry," said Colin Creevey, leveling his own crossbow at a large, blond Death Eater. 

"You don't have to kill them," Harry continued, "but you're a hell of a lot better armed than they are, and I can guarantee that those crossbow bolts are going to hurt no matter where they go in." 

Ginny glanced sideways at Harry, grinning, but the smile vanished almost at once. 

"Harry, look out!" she shrieked. 

Harry wheeled around, bringing his sword to bear on the Death Eater who had been creeping up behind him, knife in hand -- one of the few who had followed Bellatrix Lestrange's advice, breaking away from his hemmed-in fellows. 

"Rabastan Lestrange," Harry said evenly. 

"Harry Potter," he replied, smiling almost pleasantly. "You have your mother's eyes." 

"So I've heard." The point of the sword was inches from Lestrange's throat. "I doubt she would have wanted me to kill you, though, so why don't you go back over there with your friends, so I don't have to?" 

Lestrange laughed softly. "Are you going to stick me with that thing, little boy? I stuck something in your mother once. But you didn't know that, did you, Potter?" 

Harry stared at Lestrange, feeling like he might throw up. "That's a lie," he said. "You Death Eaters are all liars. My mum never would have touched _you_!" 

"That's all _you_ know, Potter." The smile still hung on Lestrange's lips, ugly and mocking. "Soft and sweet she was, too. A pretty, red-haired little thing. Like that one." He inclined his head toward Ginny whose crossbow was trained on him. "I made her scream. She --" 

" _Stop!_ " 

Harry's hand was shaking. He knew in some small, rational part of his mind that he should not let himself be distracted by Lestrange's taunts, but all the rest of him cried out for the man's blood. He wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face, and make him beg for his life -- beg his forgiveness for telling such vile lies against the memory of his mother -- and then he wanted to slide Gryffindor's sword into his guts and let the darkness have him. 

And that was how Lestrange managed to dodge swiftly to one side and turn to bring the edge of his knife to Harry's throat. 

"Like mother like son," he whispered in Harry's ear. "Now I get to stick something in you, Potter. Will you scream for me, too, I wonder? Will you --" 

He broke off with a cry as a crossbow bolt sprouted from his hand. The knife clattered to the floor. Lestrange staggered sideways, and then rushed at Ginny and her empty crossbow with a snarl of rage. Harry raised Gryffindor's sword and leapt forward. He could not -- _could not_ \-- let anything happen to Ginny. But before he could reach them, a figure stepped between Harry and Lestrange. Neville Longbottom swung his staff in a high arc that connected with Lestrange's ribs with a satisfying crunch. The big man crumpled to the ground and lay, moaning. 

"Are you all right?" asked Neville. His face was pale, and he seemed not to notice the long cut down one cheek which bled profusely. 

"I'm fine," said Ginny, reloading her crossbow. 

When she was finished, she stood on tiptoes to kiss Neville's bloody cheek. "Thank you," she whispered. 

"Harry?" Neville asked, turning to him. 

"I'm fine, too," said Harry, trying to smile. 

He tried to shake off Lestrange's words. The Death Eater had lied, he was sure, and yet -- there was so much about his parents that he did not know, and could never know. 

"Harry." Neville gripped his arm. "I -- we need you, Harry. Are you still here?" 

Harry shook himself. "Yeah. Thanks, Neville. I owe you." 

Neville smiled. "I'll remind you of that sometime." 

* * *

"Stop. Right. There." Remus's voice was calm and deadly. 

Greyback looked up into the barrel of the gun, one long-nailed hand still wrapped around Hermione's throat, the other at her waist, holding her. Ron lay bleeding on the floor. 

"You would shoot me, Remus Lupin?" asked the werewolf, sounding almost amused. "But you're one of mine. We should be on the same side." 

"Should we?" Remus said coldly. "Because there's a little boy you left bleeding on a beach in 1966 who really doesn't think so." 

Greyback barked with laughter. "The young ones always taste so sweet. Like this one." He ran his tongue up Hermione's neck. "Sweet, juicy girl. She smells so good. Do you want a taste, Remus?" 

A tremor ran down Remus's throat as he swallowed, but he kept the gun level, steadying it with both hands. 

"Let her go, Greyback." 

"It's always there, isn't it, Remus?" Greyback's eyes held the other man's, taunting. "The hunger. You can fight it. You can deny it. But it never goes away entirely. The beast is always there, waiting." 

"It is," Remus said softly. "I have to fight it every day of my life. You did that to me. But I fight because I am still a man. And so are you, Greyback. It's not too late. I know the things you've done. You're not weak. You're strong enough to fight this thing; not let it rule you. Let the girl go. Prove to the Death Eaters and the Ministry and the whole Wizarding world that a werewolf is more than just a beast. Stand with us and fight." 

"Stand and fight, eh?" said Greyback thoughtfully. "For what? A life of being shunned and scorned? Laws that declare you to be less than other wizards? Why should I fight for that when the Dark Lord has been so good to me? He gives me children. Soft-skinned girls and boys to play with. I don't fight my own nature; I _glory_ in it. This gift of strength and power makes us _more_ than them -- makes us _better_. We can give that gift to your friends, you and I. This girl is strong. She will make fine breeding stock." 

"Your final warning, Greyback. Let her go." 

Greyback sneered at him with scorn. "You're a disgrace to our kind. I should have killed you instead of changing you." 

He lowered his teeth to Hermione's throat. The girl whimpered, eyes wide and staring into Remus's own, pleading with him. 

He squeezed the trigger. 

Greyback did not even have time to cry out as the silver bullet caught him in the side of the head. Blood spattered over Hermione's neck and shoulder as he fell, pulling her down with him, to reveal Narcissa Malfoy standing behind him, blade in hand. 

Remus stared at her. "What --?" 

"He was mine!" she shrieked. "I should have struck the blow, not you, _werewolf_!" She spat the word at him. "My son --" 

"Draco's in the cellar," Ron said weakly, crawling to help disentangle Hermione from Greyback's clutches. "I saw him, Mrs Malfoy. We were going to help him." 

He looked up at Narcissa. "He's safe now. Greyback's dead." 

Narcissa looked at him coldly. "I don't know what you mean, Weasley." 

She turned and walked away. Remus let her go, moving to kneel beside Ron. 

"Don't touch his blood," he warned. "You're wounded. It could easily infect you." 

"But, Hermione --" He gestured helplessly. 

"I'm all right, Ron," she said weakly, sitting up. "But Remus is right. You shouldn't touch me until I get cleaned up." 

"The hell with that!" Ron pulled off his shirt and began wiping the blood off Hermione's neck. "There." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. "No one's ever going to stop me touching you again. Got that?" 

"Got it." A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Hermione's mouth. 

Remus turned away, an echoing smile on his own lips. _They're going to be fine._

* * *

Two of the Death Eaters had managed to arm themselves with swords from somewhere. That was just fine with Ernie, because it meant that he got to watch Luna at work. 

Her expression when she fought the enemy was more focussed and more determined than when she faced him, he thought, but she was no less graceful. Her feet danced lightly over the stone floor, and the steel was alive in her hand. Armed these Death Eaters might be, but they had clearly had nowhere near the training in swordplay that the two of them had. 

As her body moved in the patterns he had helped to teach her, Ernie's heart swelled with pride, admiration, and affection. He was reminded once more of how it had felt to awake that morning beside her. Even knowing what this day would hold, he had felt no fear; only anticipation and joy. He would live because, at the end of today, there would be Luna and the possibility of something wonderful. 

Suddenly, his sword was wrenched from his hand. He cursed himself. His opponent was a clumsy, awkward youth, and Ernie had let himself get cocky, and allowed his attention to drift to the graceful movements of the blonde girl by his side. Cold heavy steel swung toward him, deadly even in clumsy hands. 

"Ernest!" Luna cried. 

She pirouetted to meet the sword aimed for him, and brought her blade up sharply. The blades came together with a ringing sound as Luna twisted hers to slide up alongside her opponent's. A second twist, and his sword went flying from his hand. He fell to his knees, the point of Luna's blade hovering directly over his heart. 

"You should be more careful, Ernest," Luna said, taking some rope from her pocket to bind the hands of the defeated swordsman. "I would have been very upset if this boy had harmed you." 

Ernie looked around to discover that the second Death Eater had made a run for it, rather than continue to press his luck against the two of them. 

"Sorry, Luna. I'll take better care in future," he said. "It's a good thing I had you here to look out for me." 

Luna smiled at him. "Yes, it is good, isn't it?" 

Ernie could not help himself. He kissed her. 

* * *

Peter was trying to sneak out the door when he heard the sound of the gun cocking. Not having been raised on Muggle movies and television shows, it was not a sound which he immediately recognised, but somewhere in his subconscious, he still knew it for a threat. He froze. 

"Not this time, Wormtail," Remus said. "This time you're going to face justice for what you've done. All of it. James, Lily, Sirius, Harry, me. You wrecked our lives, Wormtail. Now it's time for you to face the consequences." 

Slowly, Peter turned to face his former friend. "That's a gun, isn't it, Remus? You wouldn't really shoot me, would you?" 

"Why not?" Remus said softly. "I've already shot Greyback." 

"Y-you did?" Shock and fear gripped his heart. 

"I did. Right in the face. And I will by God shoot you, too, if you try to get away. You do believe me, don't you, Wormtail?" 

Peter swallowed and nodded slowly. 

"Good. Now, put your hands on your head -- _slowly_ \-- and get down on the floor." 

Peter was just moving to obey when, out of nowhere, a dark-haired woman grabbed Remus's wrist. 

"Run, Peter!" she shrieked. 

"What the _hell_?" said Remus, grappling for control of the gun as the woman tried to wrest it from his grasp. "Let go, woman! You don't know what you're doing!" 

"Maddy!" cried Peter. "Be careful!" 

None of them saw how it happened, but the roaring report as the gun went off shocked them all into stillness. 

And then slowly, gracefully, Madeleine Yaxley fell backward. Peter caught her in his arms and lowered her gently to the floor, where he sat, cradling the dying woman in his arms. 

"You shot her!" he cried, staring at Remus in disbelief. "Oh my God, Remus, you _shot_ her!" 

Remus stood over them, numb, the smoking gun still in his hand. He had not meant to do it, truly. Greyback was one thing -- a monster who had embraced and reveled in the darkness in his nature -- but Madeleine Yaxley was only human. Did she deserve death? Remus did not even know what crimes she might have committed. He stared down at the two embracing Death Eaters, who seemed to have completely forgotten he was there, and he felt empty, numb, desolate -- 

And then he felt burning pain as something white-hot slid between his ribs. The world swam before his eyes, and he heard a laugh. It was a laugh he knew -- a laugh he had last heard two years before, as Sirius had disappeared behind the Veil. Slowly, as if in a dream, he turned around. Bellatrix Lestrange stood behind him, blood dripping red down the silver blade of her knife, staining her fingers. His knees trembled, and he sat down suddenly on the floor, staring up at her, bemused. 

She waved the blade in his face. "Silver!" she crowed. "Silver for the werewolf! Give my precious cousin a kiss from me when you see him." 

Her laughter echoed and rang in his head as the burning sensation shot tendrils of fire through his guts. She was just going to stand there and laugh while the silver poisoned his blood. Those mad eyes would be the last thing he ever -- 

With an unintelligible war cry, Neville Longbottom brought his staff down on Bellatrix's head, effectively shutting her up. She crumpled to the floor before Remus, bloody knife dropping from her limp fingers. 

"My parents send their regards," Neville told her unconscious form. He turned to Remus, round face full of concern. "You're bleeding, Professor. Are you all right?" 

"Pretty sure I'm not," he mumbled, and blacked out. 

* * *

Harry charged across the room to where Dumbledore was holding Voldemort at sword point. 

"He's mine, Professor!" Harry declared, leveling Gryffindor's sword at the Dark wizard's throat. "'Either must die at the hand of the other,' right?" 

"Remember what I told you about prophecy, Harry?" Dumbledore warned. "Not all prophecies come true. But if people believe in them, and act as if they were true, they often fulfill themselves. That is the true power of prophecy. We find ourselves at this juncture because Tom Riddle believed in a prophecy he was told nearly twenty years ago, and because he chose to act on that information. Now it is your turn to choose, Harry. Not because of the prophecy, but because you are here and Tom is here and something must be done. You have earned the right to face him." 

Harry nodded once, curtly, not taking his eyes from Voldemort's face. 

"Do you yield, Tom Riddle?" he asked coldly. 

"I do not answer to that name," Voldemort replied. "And I do not believe you would kill me if you could, Harry Potter. Nothing so crude as a sword can kill Lord Voldemort. Not even one so finely wrought." 

"We could find out," Harry said quietly, green eyes locked on Voldemort's red ones. The whole room fell silent, looking on. 

Then there was a rushing sound, and a cry of exultation went up from Dumbledore's Army. 

"Moody! Kingsley! The Aurors are here!" 

They had flown their brooms straight into the building, dismounting in the middle of the hall, wands drawn. Harry looked down to see Kingsley Shacklebolt's dark hand on his arm, then raised his eyes to meet Voldemort's one last time. 

"We're done now," he said loudly so that the whole hall could hear him. "Enjoy your eternal life in Azkaban, Riddle. Take him, Kingsley." 

* * *

It was easy after that. Though it had seemed to go on forever, the battle had lasted mere minutes. The Aurors, their magic intact, rounded up Voldemort and the Death Eaters, securing them for transport to Azkaban. 

Peter Pettigrew still clung to Madeleine Yaxley's body. 

"She was going to say 'yes'," he told his captors numbly as they bound his hands. "She was. I know it." 

Arthur, looking stunned, brought in Narcissa Malfoy. 

"She killed him," he said in disbelief. "Lucius. Right in front of me. We were fighting. I had him. And she just --" 

Narcissa looked no less dazed than her captor. "He said he could always get another wife -- another son. He took my first one, sold my second. Now we're even." She stared, unseeing, at Alastor Moody as he checked the ropes that bound her wrists. "I guess the life-bond is just words after all." 

Luna and Ernie were snogging joyfully in the middle of the room, seemingly oblivious to anything else, but not every member of the winning side was celebrating so exuberantly. Ron, pale and tightlipped, stood with his arms wrapped tight around Hermione, who looked desolate, and watched as their best friend knelt beside the bloodstained form of Remus Lupin. 

Remus opened his eyes. "James?" he whispered hoarsely. 

An unfathomable expression crossed Harry's face. He took Remus's hand in his own and squeezed it. "I'm here," he said, voice cracked with emotion. 

A smile touched Remus's lips. "You missed it," he said. "I think we won." 

"Yeah," Harry replied, blinking back tears. "Yeah, you did great, Remus." 

Remus coughed weakly. "Wh-where's Sirius?" he asked. "Where's Lily?" 

Harry looked up helplessly at his friends, unsure what to do. But then Ginny came to kneel across from him. 

"I'm here, Remus," she said, taking the man's other hand. 

With a great sob, Nymphadora Tonks went to take Remus's head in her lap, shifting her features: gray eyes, dark hair, straight nose, square jaw. 

"I'm here, too, Moony," she said, voice rough with unshed tears. "It's all right. Rest now. Everything's going to be all right." 

Remus closed his eyes, smiling. 

* * *

"Looks like we win," the first twin said to the second, still held tight in the circle of his arms. 

He looked down. His twin -- his other self -- was smiling, but his eyes were empty, and his body was still. 

"I thought so," he said softly, closing the other's eyes. "But that's all right. We always knew it would end here." 

When he looked up again, his father was standing over him, Moody beside him, a hand gripping his shoulder. 

Arthur swallowed, staring at the still form. "Is he -- are you --I mean, he's you, isn't he? And he's --" 

"Gone. Yeah, Dad. He's gone." 

He laid his twin gently on the ground and rose to face his father. With a sob, Arthur gathered his son into his arms, crushing him into a hug. He let his father hold him for a long moment before stepping away. 

"Thank you, Dad," he said. 

He moved through the room, pausing to thank each person who had fought for him, with words or a handshake or a hug. His friends, his siblings, the Aurors, Dumbledore. He gave them each as much time as he could, stopping to lay a hand on Remus's unconscious brow before moving on. Last of all, he stood before Alastor Moody. 

"I trust you kept them safe for me?" 

Moody reached into a deep pocket and drew out the Time-Turner and the false wand, handing them to the young red-haired man with a grim look. 

"Thank you," said the last Weasley twin. 

"Don't do it." 

He turned to see his father standing with his siblings, a pleading expression on his face. 

"It's done, Dad," he said gently. "If I don't, the paradox it would create might be the death of us all." It sounded so melodramatic that he almost laughed, for all it was true. 

"It's done," he said again, loudly enough that the whole room fell silent to hear him. "And you know what?" he added with a grin. "It was worth it." 

His eyes found his father's once more, grin fading to a fond smile. "Give Mum our love." 

He held his breath and turned the Time-Turner.


	14. Epilogue

Harry awoke the next morning to something resting on his chest, slightly constricting his breathing. Opening his eyes, he squinted at the fuzzy outline of a pair of clasped hands, neither of them his own. He was lying in his own bed in Gryffindor tower, still in his torn and bloody robes of the day before, with Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom sleeping peacefully to his right and left. 

With a sigh, Harry closed his eyes. There were things he needed to do today -- important things -- but not just yet. He would not disturb their sleep until he had to. 

The previous day came back to him in a tumble of memory. Casualties had been mercifully light. The dead included only Lucius Malfoy, Fenrir Greyback, Madeleine Yaxley and, of course, the twins. Harry had left the Aurors to deal with the prisoners, carting them off to Azkaban to await trial, while he accompanied the wounded to St Mungo's. 

At the hospital, the Army had been checked over by healers, and for the most part, pronounced sound. Ron, Hermione, and Draco, however, had stayed overnight for observation, and would need to check into hospital again on the night of the full moon, to check for any Lycanthropic tainting. 

Remus was dying. With the administration of certain potions, he had regained consciousness, and had become more lucid later in the day, but the silver of Bellatrix's dagger had entered his bloodstream, and Harry could see that he was in constant agony. Harry felt his eyes grow moist, remembering. 

"I'm dying, Harry," Remus had told him. "But don't worry; I don't mind so much." 

"Isn't there anything they can do?" Harry had asked, voice strained. 

"No," Remus replied gently. "But there is something you can do for me." 

Harry had plucked at the thin hospital blanket, wanting the reassurance of physical contact, but awkward and unsure how to go about it. Remus solved the problem by taking Harry's hand in his. 

"Harry?" 

"Anything." Harry swallowed back tears. "Anything you want, I-I'll see it gets done. I promise." 

Remus smiled. "I knew I could count on you. You're a good man, Harry, and it's been a privilege watching you grow up." 

He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, wincing with pain, his fingernails digging into Harry's palm. For a moment, he lay back, eyes closed, face pale, gasping. 

"Remus?" Harry's voice was small, uncertain. 

"It's all right, Harry." Remus's voice was weak, and not terribly reassuring. "It'll be over soon." 

He had opened his eyes then. "Harry, I want you to get me into the Department of Mysteries. I want to go through the Veil before this thing kills me. Can you do that for me?" 

Harry stared at him in disbelief. "But that's -- that's suicide, isn't it? I mean, we don't even know what's in there!" 

The faint smile returned to Remus's bloodless lips. "I know one thing that's there. I don't want to keep him waiting any longer. The full moon is only two nights away. The change will kill me for sure. I don't want to die like that, Harry. Please." 

For the first time since he had known him, Harry had seen tears in the older man's eyes. 

"I promised, didn't I?" he replied, squeezing his hand. "I'll manage it somehow." 

Remus's eyes closed again. "Thank you, Harry. And now I think I might rest for a bit." 

Harry had sat for a few minutes longer, holding the hand of his parents' friend until another hand had covered his own. He looked up to find Ginny standing beside him. She had nodded toward the ward doors, and he turned in time to see Neville disappear through them. 

"I think he's gone to see his parents," she said quietly, so as not to disturb Remus. 

Harry nodded and rose. He had not had a chance to speak to Neville since the battle. There had been too many demands on his attention, and he had given his time so far where it was needed most. But now the day was drawing to a close, and the sense of urgency had passed. Everything that must be done immediately had been done, and everything else could wait for tomorrow or the next day. 

Harry followed Neville up the stairs and into the Permanent Spell Damage ward -- watched him disappear behind one of the curtains that afforded the residents of that ward a little privacy. He took a few deep breaths, thought fleetingly of how much more terrifying this was than facing Voldemort, crossed the ward, and passed through the curtain himself. 

Neville had looked up in surprise, breaking off in the middle of whatever he had been saying. 

"Harry! I --" He shifted in his seat, embarrassed. Moisture clung to his lashes. 

"I wanted to meet your parents, Neville," Harry told him quietly. 

Neville sniffed. "Mum, Dad, this is Harry Potter. I've told them all about you," he confessed. 

Harry thought he saw a glimmer in Alice Longbottom's eye, quickly gone. Frank did not look up. 

"I was just telling them about everything that's happened. Maybe -- maybe now that everything's over, they'll -- get better," Neville said without much hope. 

Harry reached out to squeeze Neville's shoulder in sympathy. "It will be all right," he told the other boy. 

"I didn't kill her, though," Neville said plaintively. "Bellatrix Lestrange. I could have, but I didn't. Do you think if they knew, they'd be angry?" 

"No," Harry replied firmly. "They would be proud of you for being strong, and for not giving in to that kind of hatred." 

Harry crouched down beside him so that their eyes were on a level, and very deliberately covered Neville's hand with his own. 

Neville's brown eyes were full of confusion. "What --?" 

"Mr and Mrs Longbottom," Harry said, "your son is a brave man. We're all proud of him. I wanted to let you know that he has people who care for him, and that he will never be alone. And I wanted to do this." 

Neville's eyes were wide and his breath caught in his throat as Harry leaned in to kiss him softly and lingeringly on the mouth. As he drew away, Neville gave a sigh of wonder. 

"But -- what about Ginny?" he asked, unconsciously placing the fingers of one hand against his lips, as if to trap the sensation. 

Harry gave him a reassuring smile. "Ginny knows. And she cares about you, too, Neville. Neither of us want you to be alone." 

He stood, drawing Neville to his feet. 

"Come on," he said. "Good night, Mr and Mrs Longbottom." 

Ginny had met them in the stairwell. Hand in hand, they had made one more round to check up on their friends. Ron and Hermione, in adjacent beds, were talking quietly, holding hands across the gap between them. They seemed oblivious to anything beyond themselves. Not far away, Draco lay on his side, face turned resolutely toward the wall. His mother had been taken away with the other Death Eaters, and he had no other visitors. 

Remus was still sleeping. Beside his bed, Tonks sat curled up in one of the hospital's uncomfortable chairs. She looked up at Harry with reddened eyes. 

"I'll sit with him a while," she said hoarsely. "You go get some sleep." 

"Thanks, Tonks," he said, patting her arm. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

The three of them had, by wordless consensus, made their way back to Hogwarts. It was home and sanctuary and a place of peace and safety, and nothing on earth seemed sweeter at that moment. They did not even pause in the Gryffindor common room, but turned to climb the stairs to the boys' dormitory, collapsing at last on Harry's bed in exhaustion. 

Then, lulled by the comfort of the silent presence of the others, they had fallen asleep in each other's arms. 

But now a new day dawned clear and bright, and it was time to face the world again -- to step up to the grim duties that came after heady victory. 

After a round of "good mornings" and some shy, awkward smiles, the three of them parted company; Ginny to be with her family, Neville to reassure his Gran that he was, indeed, all right, and Harry to go to the Ministry to petition them about Remus's request. 

When he returned to St Mungo's in the early afternoon, he found Remus sitting up in bed, speaking to a fair-haired woman Harry did not recognise, but the boy who sat beside her, gazing at his surroundings in openmouthed wonder, might as well have been Remus's son. 

"Harry," Remus said with a smile. "I'd like you to meet my sister, Natalie, and my nephew, John. Natalie, John, this is Harry Potter." 

Natalie stood and shook Harry's hand. "You're James's son. I remember your father." 

"Pleased to meet you," Harry replied. "Did I know you had a sister, Remus?" 

It was Natalie who answered. "Remus and I -- we haven't seen one another in a long time." Her voice was sad. 

"Natalie didn't go to Hogwarts," Remus said. "She's a Muggle like our mother. But John will be starting this September." 

John flushed and shifted nervously in his seat. 

"You'll love it," Harry assured him. "Don't worry; I was raised Muggle, too." 

He looked from John to Natalie to Remus and cleared his throat nervously. "I -- er -- wanted to talk to you. About what we discussed yesterday?" 

Remus glanced at his nephew. "Ah -- Where's Nymphadora?" 

"I'm here, Remus," she said, rushing over with a steaming cup of tea in hand. "Is there something I can get you? What do you need?" 

"I was wondering if you would mind introducing my nephew to some witches and wizards who are not as ancient and stuffy as his uncle?" 

She hitched a smile onto her face. "Sure thing. Glad to. C'mon, John. I'll introduce you to the smartest witch I've ever met. _And_ she's Muggle-born." 

When they were out of earshot, Harry sat down, leaning over the bed to speak in a low voice. 

"It's done," he said. "You wouldn't believe how easy it was. I had this whole huge explanation ready -- thought I was going to have to work my way through a bunch of bureaucrats and red tape. But I show up, and Scrimgeour himself is there to greet me. He asked if there was anything he could do for me, so I told him. 'Your wish is our command, Mr Potter,' he says, of course." Harry rolled his eyes. "I hate being famous like that, but I guess I might as well use it as long as it's there." 

"Thank you, Harry," said Remus. 

Natalie held her brother's hand and looked grim-faced, but said nothing. Harry wondered how much Remus had told her. 

"So you're really going to do it, then?" he asked. 

"I am," Remus nodded. "I appreciate you arranging this for me, Harry, and I want to offer you some small token in exchange." 

He grimaced in pain as he reached into the drawer of his nightstand and drew out a phial of swirling silver that might have been a liquid or a gas. He placed it in Harry's hands. 

"A few of my memories of your parents and Sirius," he explained. "The day we first came to Hogwarts. The best pranks. Your parents' wedding is in there somewhere, and the day you were born. I'm sure Dumbledore would be happy to loan you his Pensieve." 

Harry looked down at the swirling silver, blinking back tears. "Thank you, Remus," he said softly. 

"At my flat," he continued, "you'll find letters we exchanged, as well as my photo albums. I want you to have those, too." 

Harry nodded, too overcome for speech. 

"When do we do it, Harry?" Remus asked. 

Harry swallowed. "T-tomorrow," he replied. "After the twins' f-funeral. I thought you m-might want to go." 

* * *

It was meant to be a quiet affair, and in a way, it was. The funeral was surprisingly subdued for an event held in honour of the Weasley twins. But half the Wizarding world seemed to have turned out for the occasion. 

Mrs Weasley wept inconsolably, supported on either side by her two eldest sons. Mr Weasley broke down during the eulogy, and was unable to continue for several minutes. Ginny stood resolute between Harry and Neville, chin up, a look of fierce pride burning in her eyes. Ron stood awkwardly next to Percy, while Hermione helped Tonks support a pale and swaying Remus. 

A quiet gathering was held afterward at the Burrow for friends and family, and it was during this that Harry and Remus slipped away quietly, without goodbyes. They were accompanied by Tonks, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Neville, and at the Ministry, they were joined by Albus Dumbledore and Remus's sister. 

This honour guard helped Remus down into the Department of Mysteries, but it was only Harry, Remus and Dumbledore who were allowed inside. At the entrance to the department, they each embraced or shook hands with Remus, according to their natures. Hermione wept inconsolably into Ron's neck. Tonks was white-faced and numb. 

"We'll miss you," a slightly congested Neville said, shaking Remus's hand. 

"Safe journey, Remus," said Ginny, embracing him and planting a kiss on his cheek. 

Natalie's sadness seemed deepest of all. "I'm sorry, Remus," she told her brother. "We should have had more time." 

"It's all right, Sis," he reassured her with a hug. "It doesn't matter now." 

And then they were through the door and it was just the three of them. The entrance chamber of the Department of Mysteries spun around them, and when it stopped, a single door opened. 

There is was, silent and eerie. The empty amphitheatre with its raised stone seats, and at the center, the dais and its veiled archway. 

Harry and Dumbledore helped Remus down the stone steps and to the center of the room. Every step clearly caused Remus untold agony, but he did not make a sound to disturb the stillness of the chamber. His eyes were fixed on the fluttering veil. At last they stood on the same spot that Sirius had last stood in their world. 

Dumbledore turned to Remus. "Here we are. On to the next great adventure, eh?" 

Remus smiled. "Indeed, Professor. I hope to see you there one day. And you, too, Harry," he added, turning to the younger man. "A very long time from now. I want to hear stories of your children and your grandchildren and even your great-grandchildren. This life is full of adventure, too." 

Harry nodded, hardly trusting his voice. "I will, Remus," he promised. "Give my love to my mum and dad and Sirius when you see them, won't you?" 

"Oh, Harry," Remus said fondly. "They will be so proud of you when I tell them about the man you've become. What wouldn't I have given to have a son like you?" 

The two men embraced. And then Remus turned and took the last step and the first by himself. 

* * *

The Wizarding world changed following Voldemort's defeat, and nowhere were the changes more evident than at Azkaban prison. 

The Dementors had proved that they could not be trusted, and were summarily relieved of their duties. They were replaced by human guards -- Squibs and the Muggle relatives of witches and wizards -- and Azkaban became a magic-free zone. The spell which the Weasley twins had developed was modified to permanently remove all magic within the confines of the prison, and up to a one mile radius out to sea in all directions. The prisoners were no longer forced to relive their worst memories, but were instead forced to live without magic, which many of them thought just as dreadful a fate, if not worse. 

Peter Pettigrew turned rat _en route_ to the prison, and vanished, never to be seen again. 

Narcissa and Draco Malfoy plead their case before the Wizengamot, with Harry, Ron and Arthur Weasley standing as witnesses for the defence. They were acquitted of all charges, and released. 

The Weasley twins, for unknown reasons, left a will stating that they wished to be buried in the cemetery of a village called Little Hangleton. After the burial, some said they had seen the twins' sister talking to a tree, but no one knew what she had said. 

There is a certain hopefulness in the Wizarding world today. In Diagon Alley, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is still open for business, under the management of Lee Jordan. Ron Weasley works for him. They do a lucrative trade in many popular joke shop items, but their best seller to this day is their replica of Voldemort's wand. It doesn't do anything.


End file.
